


A Crown's Worth

by subak_jumokbap



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Civilians, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Rebels, Secret Identity, Secrets, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, prince - Freeform, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 59,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subak_jumokbap/pseuds/subak_jumokbap
Summary: “Are you hiding anything here?” Yukhei whispers to him, loud enough for Mark to catch but quiet enough to be drowned out by the trotting of their horses. It’s supposed to be teasing but Mark can’t help feel self-conscious about it.“What’s that supposed to mean?”“You look anxious,” Yukhei laughs. “Don’t worry. Anything you’re hiding here, we’ll find out soon enough.”No, Mark thinks, as his eyes dart around the town carefully in case he sees a familiar boy with a familiar shadow of a dagger beneath his clothes. Everything he wants to hide has come down here with him.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mentions of family member deaths, war and very brief mention of depression. this might actually turn out softer than you think bcoz thats all i know how to write

“Who goes?”

Mark startles at the voice. There wasn’t anyone else around him when he last checked. He reacts quickly, swiftly swerving on his heels into a half-spin, a movement so practiced that it comes off unnecessarily graceful. His bow and arrow are steady in his hands, his stance firm and his posture coming naturally to him like it was ingrained in him from a young age.

His arrow points threateningly to the source of the voice and he finds the tip of it aimed at a boy seemingly his age. The boy has straight black hair, long enough that it tickles his neck and it sticks to the curve of his face from perspiration. His pale complexion is hidden under the dirt on his face and his eyes carry a form of brazen confidence. He leans against the side of a tree on one shoulder, looking relaxed, entertained even, as he watches Mark attentively. His condescending manner does nothing but encourage Mark to keep his guard up. He eyes Mark’s arrow with a dangerous sparkle in his eyes and Mark takes the chance to silently observe him as well. Mark notices how the boy’s right arm lingers subtly closer to his body than the other, hiding the outline of a small object beneath his tunic.

A dagger.

Mark flashes his eyes back to the boy’s face. There’s no doubt that the boy has a dagger strapped around his waist under his garment. Mark would recognise the outline of a dagger holder anywhere. Their eyes converse first before they do and the way amusement dances in the boy’s eyes tells Mark that the boy doesn’t recognise who he is. It’s expected, only a specific number of people know how Mark’s supposed to look like. There’s a slight chance, however, that the boy may be feigning ignorance and Mark doesn’t want to take risks. He keeps his arrow pointed steadily at him. The boy’s lips slant up into a smile at his persistence, wicked but defensive, as if pleased at Mark’s decision.

The boy swiftly snaps out his dagger– Mark was right– from beneath his shirt, a fast, practiced movement Mark silently gives him credit for. He grips the handle in a fist and holds it outstretched away from himself, as ready to fling it into Mark’s chest as Mark is to shoot him.

“I can make this go through you as fast as your arrow goes through me.”

His voice is surprisingly clean and pure, like if sunlight were to ever make a sound, bringing a contrast to his menacing manner. His voice reminds Mark that he’s just a boy, albeit a boy with a dagger, and it makes Mark wonder what kind of boy throws death threats so brazenly, touches a dagger with such familiarity and handles it with frightening ease.

“Who _goes_ ,” the boy demands again, levelling his gaze with Mark’s. Mark tries to read him in a brief glance— worn shirt, pants that have been patched over again repeatedly and boots looking like they should have been replaced months ago. His clothes don’t hide his toned frame well, and his stance gives away his nimbleness. He’s good at fighting, Mark can tell, and obviously experienced in combat and confrontation from how he’s currently handling Mark.

“Nobody,” Mark clarifies gruffly. He lowers his bow slowly in a smart decision to show that he means no harm. The boy watches and follows, bringing his dagger down to his side but he still clenches it tightly in his fist. Its only fair, Mark doesn’t let up his guard either.

“A nobody doesn’t appear in the middle of the woods armed,” the boy remarks sharply when both of their weapons are out of the way. It’s funny, Mark thinks, because the boy is unknowingly describing himself too, isn’t he? Mark has his own excuse and he wonders what the boy’s excuse is. The boy watches Mark silently and chances a glimpse behind Mark where Mark knows his horse is grazing. The boy’s eyes flick back to him and the expression on his face hardens. His tone is accusing when he speaks. “Are you from the palace?”

“Do I look like I’m from the palace?” Mark counters calmly. He’s thankful he’s wearing his old training fit. They’re almost of similar conditions to the boy’s outfit, a faded dirty colour with scratches at the parts covering his knees and elbows. It makes his lie more believable because no one from the palace dresses like this. The boy seems to fall for it.

“Who are you with?” The boy questions, his eyes glancing around carefully looking for signs of company.

“I’m alone,” Mark confirms.

The boy doesn’t budge. “You know what I’m asking.”

Mark does. The woods bear bandits, fugitives and refugees among other identities.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Mark lies because pretense can be the best defense. “And I meant what I said. I’m alone.” He turns back around after rashly deciding that the boy isn’t going to attack him, baring his back vulnerable. He stalks towards the tree that has his arrows sticking out of. “Who are you hiding from?” he asks off-handedly, hoping to strike right through the boy’s defenses.

There’s a falter in the rhythm of the boy’s replies. Mark’s lips slant up. A direct hit.

The boy clears his throat. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”

Mark yanks out his arrows from the trunk, all having fallen within the small circle he had carved. Not a single miss— he can’t remember the last time he had one.

“You’re being very wary of me,” Mark provides as an explanation.

The boy huffs. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve never seen you around. And you could very well be trouble for all I know.”

“I am not trouble.”

Another hesitant beat. “If you’re not from the palace, where are you from then?”

Mark turns back around and sees genuine curiosity in the boy’s eyes. He doesn’t answer. Instead he turns his head over his shoulder and whistles for his horse. It struts up to him and he packs his arrows into the carrier that’s strapped to it.

He can feel the boy waiting expectantly for his answer. He sighs, holding his horse’s reins as he looks at the boy squarely. “I’m not from where you are.”

The boy snorts. “I can make out that much. If you were I’d know you.”

“Look, I’ll just pack my stuff and go,” Mark says, not wanting a fight to ensue because he really doesn’t have the energy for any unnecessary fist-throwing or dagger-dodging. He doesn’t want to shoot any of his arrows on anything that aren’t trees either. “I just wanted a place to practice my shooting. I’m done now and I’ll leave.”

The boy doesn’t say anything and Mark doesn’t expect him to. He takes the boy’s silence as an agreement and when he makes to mount his horse, the boy speaks again.

“Jeno.”

Mark stops short and turns his head towards him.

“My name,” the boy explains, walking forward with broad shoulders as he extends out his hand. His dagger is gone. It’s not underneath his shirt, Mark doesn’t see it there. His weight seems awfully balanced on one foot. He’s a little careless and predictable despite his agility. The dagger’s at his shin, half of it tucked into his boot under his pants.

Mark accepts his hand. “Minhyung,” he provides in return. It’s not a lie this time. It _is_ his name, only that no one has called him that in years, not since his mother died. Minhyung is a distant memory. It rolls weirdly off his tongue.

“I just don’t want trouble in our village,” Jeno says stiffly to explain himself. “You’re a new face in the woods with a weapon. I had to be sure.”

Mark nods, indicating that he understands. “Well I guess it’s good news that I’m not trouble then,” Mark says. Jeno nods curtly and Mark takes it as the end of their exchange. He lowers his head in a bow, to which Jeno reciprocates. He climbs on his horse and rides off without another word nor a glance back. He notes that the sun has started to set and he should wisely start finding shelter for the night.

It turns out that wasn’t the last time their paths would cross like Mark had thought they would. The second time however, seemed intentional. Not on Mark’s part, at least.

Mark had sought shelter last night underneath a tree by the river bank, kept hidden from sight by courtesy of tall, wild grasses. His horse sleeps by the river concealed by the grasses as well, somewhere not too far off from him. He doesn’t tie his horse to a tree because he knows his horse won’t run, he believes their bond runs deeper than that. He’s sleeping slumped against the trunk, his bow in his lap and carrier slung on his shoulder. His ears have been attuned to the sound of rushing water and the calls of birds and insects all night, and maybe that’s why he starts to stir awake slowly when he picks up the sound of something that hadn’t been in the symphony. It sounds characteristically unnatural, oddly familiar, like the sound of metal digging into something hard. A tree. A saw.

A saw?

He bolts awake as the realisation strikes down on him. His heart jolts and he rolls away instinctively from his position as if he were under attack. He unthinkingly readies his bow and arrow, kneeling on one knee, his mind alive and his eyes scouring for signs of danger. His stance doesn’t falter and his arrow is sturdy when he finally points it to the source of the sound.

He finds himself practically in the same situation as yesterday.

Jeno is at the end of his arrow again, this time he has his back turned to Mark. Jeno stands a few trees away from him, looking over his own shoulder with a despicable grin on his face, like he’s satisfied with Mark’s reaction.

This is how Mark realises that Jeno, upon the second meeting, is an asshole.

There’s a saw in Jeno’s hand and a small pile of wood on top of some sacks to the side of his feet. Mark watches and trails his arrow along as Jeno jumps and climbs up the tree, his feet familiar with the right hooks and grooves on the trunk, and perches himself steadily on a sturdy-looking branch like a frog. He looks down at Mark, a smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, did I wake you? I didn’t mean to do that.”

The sun’s hardly risen— the sky is still asleep and dawn is still making its way to greet them. Yet, Jeno’s already awake and defeating the day and consequently, defeating Mark’s day as well. It does nothing but make Mark want to release the pointed arrow from his grasp.

Mark frowns as he lifts himself up from his knee and holds his bow loosely by his side. He stands in his spot looking up at Jeno. Jeno isn’t very visible between the branches and among the shadows of the leaves but he can make out Jeno’s figure from how Jeno’s the only thing moving up there. He squints at him, mildly miffed. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jeno saws off a branch near him and Mark watches it drop to the ground. “Gathering wood for the bakery. They open at dawn so I have to do this even earlier,” Jeno says simply, navigating about the tree with ease to saw off another branch.

Mark steps back when the branch thuds and bounces towards him. Jeno reappears from the shadows, allowing his face to be seen more clearly away from the twigs and leaves. “You’re trained,” he states abruptly, looking intently at Mark with utmost curiosity. It’s clear that he’s referring to how Mark had literally leapt up from sleep into a perfect stance, ready and well-armed.

“I have fast reflexes,” Mark convinces stiffly. Jeno snorts, a telling response that he doesn’t buy Mark’s excuse at all. He hops to another branch and promptly gets hidden from view. A thick branch hits the ground and Jeno jumps off following it, landing as elegantly on his feet as he can with a saw in his hand. He wipes the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve.

He eyes Mark amusedly. “And lucky enough to get bullseye every time you shoot an arrow? I saw your target on the tree yesterday.”

That definitely deters Mark from making up any more lies. The truth is he’s skilled with a variety of weapons, not just the bow and arrow, but he’s not about to let Jeno know. He’s not here as a threat and he has no reason to make himself seem like one.

“You chose this tree on purpose, didn’t you?” Mark says instead, his mind catching up to him now that the rush of adrenaline has cleared off from his system. “You saw me sleeping here, decided to have a little fun.”

There’s a feigned innocent smile on Jeno’s face. “A mere coincidence. Does it flatter you to think that you interest me enough to–”

“–That is not what I’m saying,” Mark grunts, not liking how Jeno is playing him easily in his hands.

Jeno laughs delightedly and leans back against the tree. Saw still in hand, he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He watches Mark wordlessly, drawing out Mark’s irritation as Mark meets his gaze head-on.

“What do you want?” Mark snaps, sharply cutting off the sticky tension between them. “You clearly meant to wake me up.”

Jeno shrugs, still watching Mark with curious eyes. “Answers.”

“I don’t hear any questions.”

“Alright,” Jeno says. His eyes scan Mark over. “Are you homeless?”

It’s not rare to meet people who’ve left their homes and spend their days travelling through the woods. Mark looks down at his bow, his answer lies in its weight. “I have a home.”

“You’ve been kicked out,” Jeno offers.

He meets Jeno’s eyes determinedly. “I left on my own accord.”

He sees how curiosity piques in Jeno’s eyes. “So a runaway.”

Mark smiles, bitter mixed with disappointment. “Depends. Does a runaway plan on returning home?”

“Ah,” Jeno says, sounding like he finally understands. He lifts his back off the trunk. An eyebrow is arched. “A coward then.”

A coward? Mark doesn’t think Jeno’s wrong.

Jeno’s gaze lingers on him a while more before he forcefully tears it away and starts picking up the branches he had sawed off. He puts them inside the dirtied sacks and huffs, “Help me with this.”

Mark contemplates, he doesn’t see a reason why he should, but doesn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t either. He decides to help. He grabs a sack himself and starts shoving pieces of wood inside.

“Want to follow down to the bakery?” Jeno asks off-handedly without meeting his eyes.

The question is abrupt but Mark doesn’t show that he’s caught off-guard by it. He doesn’t meet Jeno’s eyes either. “I should probably be on my way.”

“Where to?” Jeno laughs. It doesn’t sound mocking, rather strangely empathetic. It dawns upon Mark that Jeno thinks he doesn’t have anywhere to go. Mark could always return home, _should_ return home before things get out of hand but he doesn’t want to face whatever mess he left behind just yet.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Jeno eyes him from the side. “Why don’t you come with me, I know what it’s like to be hungry.”

Mark feels a surge of heat creep up his neck. “I’m fine.”

“I could use a little help bringing this back,” Jeno says, nudging the filled sack of wood by his feet. “You have a horse I would appreciate.”

Jeno’s trying to persuade him to come with, an unexpected act of kindness Mark doesn’t think he deserves. It might be pity what Jeno feels for him, or it might be because Jeno’s been through a similar experience before, Mark doesn't know. But what Mark knows is that he definitely isn’t like Jeno— he doesn’t know what it’s like to be hungry. The hunger he feels now probably amounts to nothing compared to what Jeno has gone through before. Jeno doesn’t have to tell him for him to know. These kinds of things don’t have to be told. He knows he’s better off than everyone he meets.

Jeno sighs. “Look, I don’t want to be the last person to see you alive. It’s a lot of work answering questions.”

Mark is sure he’s not going to die but he’s been suppressing the growling of his stomach since yesterday and he’s pretty sure his horse could use some food too. He could find something for his horse if he follows Jeno to town, he just has to be careful and keep himself from being seen. The only problem is that he doesn’t have any currency with him which means he’ll have no choice but to put his purchases on Doyoung’s tab. He’s heard of Doyoung doing it whenever Doyoung buys his ink for writing. He’s sure Doyoung wouldn’t mind doing him this favour.

He whistles for his horse and it struts obediently towards him. “Pass me the sacks.”

“What’s its name?” Jeno asks after dragging the sacks nearer. He approaches Mark’s horse and tentatively puts his palm on its neck, smiling when there isn’t any resistance to his touch. He starts petting it gently.

Mark struggles to secure the sacks properly on its back. He huffs. “Thunder. I was ten when I named him.”

Thunder is Mark’s oldest friend. He’s a handsome black horse with a white strip going down from between his eyes to his nostrils. He’s a charming fellow that has Mark enamoured at first sight and has been by Mark’s side ever since Mark started riding. Thunder wasn’t supposed to be Mark’s, or anyone’s for that matter because Thunder was supposed to serve any rider. But Mark grew attached to him, and him to Mark and they’ve weathered through many years ever since. The secret behind Thunder’s name is that Mark had thought Thunder’s galloping was so loud the first time he heard it, akin to the roar in the sky during a storm and hence had named Thunder after it.

Jeno scoffs a laugh. He continues petting Thunder’s neck while waiting for Mark to be done, intentionally not offering a hand just to watch Mark suffer. Mark hardly cares enough to be bitter about it. He considers it a payment for Jeno’s kindness.

“Well Thunder, I’ll get you some delicious hay for your help. And maybe some delicious hay for your owner too if he’s good.”

Mark suppresses a roll of his eyes and pulls Thunder’s reins to start him walking. They walk out of the woods with Thunder between them. Jeno curiously asks about Mark’s night in the woods and Mark asks Jeno about town in return. The sun starts to wake a little more as they make their way towards town.

Mark’s careful not to make himself known when he enters town, subtly turning his head the other way whenever anyone spares them a glance. Mark’s never been to this town before, it’s likely quite a distance away from his home to warrant him visiting it for leisure. It’s cozy and quiet but he thinks it’s because it’s still too early to observe a flurry of activities. He’s sure it’s bound to get livelier once the sun is high in the sky and people start going about their days. Dawn has only just passed, bringing with it a calming blue over their heads. Store owners are setting up their stores and carts as he and Jeno make their way down the street. Jeno offers out friendly greetings as they pass which are returned back to him fondly. Jeno seems to be a familiar and well-liked presence in town and while it is nice to see, the attention that comes with it isn’t to Mark’s favour and Mark does well to keep his head down. They make a turn down the other street and Mark sees the bakery standing quietly at the end of it. It’s a tiny little shop with a wooden hand-painted sign hanging above the door, the smell of freshly baked dough enticing even just from outside. Jeno brings them round the shop to the back door where most of the labour takes place. They deliver the chopped wood promptly and leave with two cloths of bread in exchange. They have a small bread roll in their hands each, courtesy of Jeno buttering up to the baker which Mark wasn’t surprised to witness at all. When they’re outside, Jeno proudly boasts that the baker has a soft spot for him which Mark doesn’t question because he’d seen it beneath the act of annoyance the baker puts up in response to Jeno’s flattery.

Jeno, Mark comes to conclude, is a pretty decent person albeit a little too cheeky for one’s liking.

“I have some hay and water back at my place for Thunder,” Jeno informs and Mark nods, following as Jeno leads them out of town.

Jeno’s house is quite a walk from town, nearer to the woods than it is to there. It lies in a big village where the neighbouring houses and farms are spaced far apart from each other. Jeno’s house comes after a few stretches of houses, two plain fields and then some. It’s a half-timbered house standing small but its size is compensated with a second story, as with all the other houses in the village, a common architectural design or so it seems. The white paint’s turned a yellowish colour as testament of age and vulnerability to temperamental weather and there are weeds creeping up the side walls. Its appearance is not off-putting in any manner, in fact Mark’s never seen a house so welcoming. It’s cozy-looking and already emits more warmth than Mark’s own house could offer. There’s a cute bricked chimney for a fireplace and a well-tended vegetable garden in front of the house before the wooden gate. The house is flagged between plains of overgrown grass before another house appears on either side and while some of Jeno’s neighbours have turned theirs into farms to grow crops, Jeno’s left his plains untouched. Jeno has a stable at the back of the house and Mark notes that it’s empty. It looks like it has been for a while but there’s curiously fresh hay laid out inside.

Mark doesn’t ask. Jeno tells him.

“We used to have a horse called Chase. Well, it’s Jaehyun’s actually. He left with Chase a while back, hasn’t been back since. Jaehyun is Jaemin’s older brother. Jaemin is my good friend. Family fits better really, I practically grew up with him. I don’t have any real ones left. Family, that is.”

Mark doesn’t know what to say. He lost his mother when he was younger too. He knows what it feels like to lose a family. “I’m sorry,” he offers. He watches Thunder munch on hay instead of meeting Jeno’s eyes. But Jeno doesn’t look at him either.

“It’s okay. Never knew who my mom was anyway. She died giving birth to me. My dad left because there were orders from the palace a long time ago. They needed manpower up north. It was six years ago, the last letter I received from him.”

Six years ago. It was when the neighbouring state declared a war to conquer their army base up north over a long-running dispute. It was the strict trade restrictions backed by a dwindling economy that pushed forth the attack on their base. Mark remembers hearing talks about it before the attack happened. He remembers the devastation after.

“My mom died when I was eight,” Mark shares. “She was very sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your dad still around?” Jeno glances at him and Mark nods.

“Luckier than me.” Jeno gives him a small smile, one that comes easy after battling years of hurt. Mark recognises it in his own reflection sometimes.

“I’d have nowhere to go if it wasn’t for Jaemin.” Jeno looks over his shoulder back at the house. He eyes the wrapped bread in Mark’s arm and cocks his head back towards the house. He lifts the bundle of bread in his own arms. “Help me bring these in and we can meet everyone else.”

Everyone else comes in the form of Jaemin’s younger brother Jisung and their sweet elderly grandmother. Mark meets their grandmother first in the kitchen and politely introduces himself. She receives him kindly but leaves shortly after to tend to the garden, claiming she’s already eaten breakfast when Mark persuades her to have some bread before she goes. Jeno lays a round loaf of rye bread upon the weathered wooden boards of the dining table. Just as Mark is about to ask where the rest are, a young boy, whom Mark assumes to be Jisung, appears from the stairs, standing tall and gangly. His caramel hair falls softly over his eyes and he rubs at them as he makes his way over. He tumbles into the kitchen, stopping short when he notices the presence of an unfamiliar face. He approaches the kitchen with wary eyes as he dares a seat opposite the one Mark is seated at.

“Who is he?” Jisung asks Jeno instead of asking Mark directly. Jisung looks up at Jeno who’s standing beside him while he slices the loaf of bread.

Jeno passes him a few slices and a slab of butter on a plate. “This is Minhyung. He’s a coward, I picked him up in the woods.”

Mark looks at Jeno unimpressed. Jeno shrugs and smiles unashamedly. Technically he isn’t _wrong,_ but he could have worded it better.

Jeno swats Jisung’s hand just as he’s about to put a slice of bread into his mouth. “Pass those to Minhyung. Those aren’t for you.”

Jisung grumbles. “But cowards don’t deserve bread,” he counters, watching Mark cautiously. Mark doesn’t think he deserves the slander considering Jisung’s just met him. Jeno sends him a sheepish smile on Jisung’s behalf but it doesn’t look fully sorry. Mark gives him a half-hearted roll of his eyes and lets it slide.

“Here have these,” Jeno tells Jisung distractedly, passing him more slices of bread. He looks past the kitchen into the front part of the house. “Where’s your brother?”

Jisung lifts and drops his shoulder, mumbling an _I dunno_ through a mouthful of bread _._

As if on cue, Jaemin appears at the opened front door. He has dark brown hair cropped from the works of someone horrible with scissors, a sharp jaw that paints him fierce yet handsome and he stands broad and tall. His sleeves are dirtied and rolled up to his elbows, making it look like he'd just done a day’s worth of work. The day’s only just begun.

Jeno takes in Jaemin’s appearance quietly, his expression hardened when Jaemin meets his eyes. There’s something crackling in the air accompanying the silence between the two, that much Mark can tell, although Mark can’t tell why. Jisung barely reacts to the strange apprehension, in fact it seems like he’s pretending he isn’t part of the room. Mark thinks it’s a wise decision that comes from experience. 

Jaemin’s gaze flickers to him without warning and the way Jaemin sizes him up makes him feel out of place. It’s reminiscent of how Jeno had looked at him when he had his arrow pointed at Jeno’s face yesterday, only that Jaemin’s stare is even more intense and twice as menacing. Mark is sure that if it was Jaemin whom he met in the woods instead, he would have had a dagger through his stomach without a second to spare.

Jaemin consciously tears his gaze away as he steps into the house and towards the kitchen. He stands by the unoccupied side of the dining table and steals Jisung’s goblet of water, quenching himself while he looks at Mark. No, rather than look, he _watches_ Mark silently but Mark is not one to be easily intimidated. Mark returns the gaze unwaveringly.

“Where did you go?” Jeno speaks first, breaking the stifling silence.

Jaemin breaks away to look at Jeno. He shrugs. “Ran some errands. Delivered papers.” For activities so mundane, Mark doesn’t think it should have resulted in his shirt being soiled nor him looking like he’d just ran two miles. Jaemin’s lying and Mark knows everyone else can tell as well. Mark doesn’t know if the lie was only meant for him to believe.

“We were supposed to gather wood for the bakery together or did you forget?”

“I had things to do. I thought you would have asked Ji to tag along when you saw me gone,” Jaemin says and he eyes Mark once more. “But it seems you’ve made a new friend to help you instead.”

“It’s a good thing I did,” Mark finally speaks up after being silent. He doesn’t like the way Jaemin judges him when he’s hardly spoken a word. He throws a jab to Jaemin indirectly. “Otherwise Jeno still wouldn’t be back by now.”

Jaemin watches him again. Jaemin eases a little seeing at how firmly he stands his ground. “Jaemin,” Jaemin offers his name along with a hand which Mark shakes while trading his name in exchange. Jaemin steals the slice of bread Jisung had buttered for himself, eliciting an upset groan from Jisung. He walks round the table behind Jisung to reach for the other slices of bread Jeno had sliced and laid on a woven plate.

“I won’t be staying long,” Mark informs voluntarily just in case Jaemin labels him as trouble. It’s not that he's scared of a fight– he can definitely fight– he just would rather not get into any trouble while he’s away from home. He wants Jaemin to know that Jaemin doesn’t have to be so guarded around him, just like Jeno had been when they first encountered each other in the woods. It makes Mark wonder about the nature of this household. Does everyone here always want to fight someone they meet for the first time?

“You don’t have to go so soon,” Jeno assures him as he glances briefly at Jaemin.

Mark shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll just let my horse feed and then I’ll leave. Thank you for your welcome.”

Jaemin seems to relax a bit more hearing Mark’s words, like he’s glad he has some guarantee to hold on to lest Mark does anything different from what he’s declared. Jaemin asks, “So what’s the story? How’d you two even meet?”

“I met Jeno yesterday in–”

“I met him in the woods,” Jeno cuts in sharply, his eyes looking straight at Jaemin. There’s an unspoken continuation after Jeno’s words, one that Jaemin understands and Mark doesn’t.

As fast as Jaemin’s easy demeanour had come, it disappears without a trace. Jaemin stares at Jeno silently. It’s not meant to be offensive, it’s more of an insisting and interrogative kind of gaze. A sort of wildness hidden behind calm, a dormant danger that has to be handled with care. Even Jisung who has been ‘invisible’ all this while starts to shift uncomfortably. Mark doesn’t know what keeps going on between the two.

“He saw you in the woods?” Jaemin asks, quiet, but the scary kind of quiet. Jaemin stands unmoving behind Jisung’s chair, his eyes digging intensely into Jeno’s face.

“ _I_ saw _him_.”

Jaemin takes in a strained breath, his eyes closing momentarily in frustration. “Jeno.”

“I know how to take care of myself, Jaemin. Stop looking at me like that. I’m literally older than you.”

“Jeno,” Jaemin repeats in a sigh. It sounds pained, like Jaemin doesn’t want to have to go down this path again _. Again_. Because Mark has a feeling this isn’t their first conversation about whatever it is they are talking about.

“Come with me upstairs.”

Jeno is defiant. “Why?”

Jaemin looks at him tiredly and speaks with a tone of finality. “Come upstairs, please.”

Jeno looks frustrated when Jaemin moves without waiting for his response. Jeno pats Jisung’s back resignedly and tells him to show Mark out when Mark wants to leave. He duly drags his feet to follow after Jaemin. The both of them climb up the creaking staircase and Mark hears a door shut when they disappear from view.

Now that it’s just him and Jisung in the small kitchen, it starts to get a little awkward. It might just be one-sided on Mark’s part however because Jisung doesn’t seem to mind the abrupt silence replacing the tension that was present between his brother and Jeno. He’s more focused on spreading butter over another slice of bread. Mark figures it’s best he leaves if Jaemin and Jeno are arguing over Jeno bringing him home. Jaemin obviously wasn’t happy at seeing an unfamiliar face in the house. Mark knows when he’s not wanted and he doesn’t take it to heart— it’s not like he was planning on staying anyway. He needs to go back to his own home where he’s actually wanted and face his consequences no matter how much he dreads it.

A coward, Jeno had called him earlier. He might just be.

“Are you leaving already?” Jisung asks, cheek full of bread when he sees Mark standing. “Let me just finish this slice and I’ll show you out. Jeno won’t be happy with me otherwise.”

Mark nods, sitting back down politely, watching Jisung stuff his face like he doesn’t know when’s the next time he’ll get food. Mark’s chest squeezes a little.

“He’s not angry with you. Or Jeno,” Jisung says distractedly, slightly muffled. He doesn’t make an effort to meet Mark’s eyes. “My brother’s just wary. He forgets that not everyone is like him.”

“Like him?” Mark asks. He realises they are his first words to Jisung.

Jisung shrugs carelessly. “He’s afraid. He expresses everything through anger lately. He’s just very protective and scared. He tries to hide it, but I know he’s scared. Everyone is a little bit scared, I think.”

Mark doesn’t know if it’s fine for Jisung to tell him all this when they’ve only just met but he nods to show he understands. He thinks he does, he’s a little scared of some things himself too. Is it normal though, he wonders, and should he be relieved if it is? What is Jaemin so afraid of? Are they the same fears as his?

Jisung finishes up his breakfast and wipes the crumbs on his pants. He cocks his head towards the front door that’s been left open. It’s been open the whole morning, Mark notices.

Jisung is easy to talk to, or rather Jisung finds it easy to talk him, because Jisung tells him quite a few things while they exit the house and make it to the stable. It’s peculiar; what Jisung tells him are stories that Mark thinks should have some form of emotional attachment or backstory that affect Jisung personally. They’re Jisung’s own stories about things that happen in his life yet Jisung speaks of them like he’s a third party, like he’s… detached. The way he talks is like he’s narrating someone else’s story instead. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, Mark thinks, maybe that’s just how Jisung carries himself forward. But Mark’s just met the kid and all he can do is loosely assume things on his own. What Jisung’s been through is for Jisung himself to speak.

During their short walk to the stable and Mark letting Jisung pet Thunder for as long as he likes, this is what Mark learns: Jisung and Jaemin’s father left together with Jeno’s when the call for people to join the army came. It’s as if they made a pact, because when one couldn’t make it back, the other didn’t either. Their mother and grandmother cared for them and took Jeno in, who was a dear neighbour at the time because there was no one else to care for Jeno. It wasn’t a big change because Jeno came over to their house almost every day during the period he waited for his father to return home. When the last letter from their fathers came however, Jisung’s and Jaemin’s mother was never the same again. She spiralled into depression for a painful few months, and then she just… wasn’t. They laid her to rest peacefully over the hills that she liked. Everything then fell onto their older brother’s shoulders. And now that Jaehyun's gone off with no one knowing where to or for how long,

“Jaemin is in charge,” Jisung explains, eyes and voice void of emotions as he continues petting Thunder’s neck affectionately. Thunder seems to really like Jisung from how he nuzzles into Jisung’s palm. “No one made Jaemin responsible. That’s just how it is. A father leaves, the son steps up. A brother leaves, the next brother steps up. But Jaemin is lucky to have Jeno. Jeno butts in whenever he can to try to help ease the load. They’re both trying really hard.”

_They’re both trying really hard._ Mark doesn’t ask what they’re trying really hard at. A bunch of boys thrown into the world without any compassion, they have to try hard at everything. Mark can’t imagine what that must be like. He lost his mom, but to lose something again and again and again. It’s bound to break a person. Like a window getting pelted at repeatedly with stones, there’s bound to be that one fateful stone to do the final trick. A nasty crack, an irrevocable damage. _Are you broken?_ Mark wants to ask. _Are you guys mad? Is that why Jaemin is so afraid? Do you wish your life was different?_

“You have a bow and arrows,” Jisung notes quietly, eyeing them where they rest with Thunder. Mark had left them buckled onto Thunder’s side before he followed Jeno inside the house.

“I do. I only ever shoot trees,” Mark says, not wanting to scare Jisung. He shoots _mostly_ trees, he doesn’t tell Jisung about the other things he shoots in lower numbers.

Jisung nods, as if satisfied by the answer. “Jeno picked you up. It’s not surprising that you have them.”

Mark doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. He does note however that Jisung seems used to seeing and being around dangerous arms. Living near the woods, it’s understandable. But the fact that Jisung is so unfazed by everything, from weapons to even his own life story, makes it a little painful to think about the kind of life Jisung has. It’s like he’s thrown himself into a state of numbness, like he’s an isolated island no man can venture to, where no harm can reach him. But neither can any love as well. _Are you broken? Are you mad?_

“Thanks for helping Jeno with gathering wood. I can’t wake up early on most days.”

“I didn’t mind. Tell Jeno I said thanks,” Mark says and somehow feeling that it’ll make Jeno gloat, he adds, “maybe.”

Jisung’s lips curl up. “Thanks maybe. I’ll be sure he gets it.”

Mark eventually brings Thunder out of the stable. He gives Jisung a nod as farewell and mounts on Thunder’s back. Just as he’s about to command Thunder to ride off, Jeno appears suddenly in front of them. He looks like he had rushed out here and he takes a hand to Thunder’s shoulder to stop Mark from going off.

“You’re leaving so soon, coward?” He pants, his eyes boring into Mark’s, a silent persuasion in his gaze.

Mark’s only known Jeno for about a day so he isn’t able to say he knows Jeno much, but there’s something off about Jeno now as compared to earlier. He looks unsettled, a little angry, more frustrated than he was before, and on top of all that he just looks… sad. Mark thinks he looks sad.

“You miss me already?” Mark retorts, pulling the reins to stop Thunder from galloping off when Thunder struts a few steps forward.

Jeno swallows and the creases on his forehead deepen. “Take me with you.”

Mark wants to think he heard Jeno wrongly.

“What?” Jisung lets out, confused. He stares at Jeno, alarmed at how steady Jeno sounds.

As taken aback as he is, Mark’s guts tell him that he should take Jeno along because Jeno seems like he really needs it. Like he really needs to leave everything behind, like he’s up to his neck with things Mark doesn’t know about and he needs an escape. But Mark can’t, he has to return home. He can’t bring Jeno home with him as much as he wants to repay the favour.

“You don’t even know where I’m headed,” Mark remarks tersely.

“You don’t have anywhere to go either,” Jeno points out. False, but Jeno believes it to be the truth. “I just need to get away. Take me with you.”

Mark eyes him quietly. He needs Jeno to know what Jeno’s signing up for. “I won’t be coming back.”

Jeno clenches his jaw, his eyes meeting Mark’s head-on. “Perfect.”

“No! What? Jeno! What is going on?” Jisung’s voice cuts through Mark’s and Jeno’s silent understanding, his voice firm yet afraid. It’s the first hint of any real emotions Mark detects from him. “You’re leaving too?”

Mark spares Jisung a glance and his stomach clenches. _You’re leaving too?_ Losing something again and again and again. And yet again. Jisung looks so scared and helpless Mark has to tear his eyes away.

Jeno must know that looking at Jisung will make his resolve crumble because he doesn’t turn Jisung’s way. He speaks adamantly, his eyes looking somewhere distant. “Jaemin doesn’t need me here. This isn’t even my house to begin with.”

Jisung lets out an incredulous breath, as if Jeno’s just told him the most insane thing. “You’re being ridiculous! Jeno, please! Let’s just go back in–”

“Are you taking me, or not?” Jeno demands, cutting Jisung off, looking at Mark like Mark is his only hope. Mark doesn’t want to be involved and he knows he should really leave but there’s something about the look in Jeno’s eyes that’s a little too familiar, that hits a little too close to home. That’s what spurs Mark to act unthinkingly, offering a hand out to Jeno without hesitation. Jeno grabs it like a lifeline and Mark pulls him up behind.

“Jeno, what the hell is going on?” Jisung yells, trying desperately to understand and stop Jeno from going. He rushes forward, tugging on Jeno’s pants. Jeno doesn’t look at him still and when Jisung speaks, his voice comes out shaky like he’s at a loss of what to do. “Jeno, _please.”_ His voice breaks. “Not you too.”

_Are you broken? Are you mad?_ Mark gets his answer. Jisung isn’t always numb, not when he’s losing something against his will yet again, like trying to grasp sand and watching it fall through his fingers. Like watching someone dear leave and not being able to do anything about it.

“Let’s go. Minhyung! Come on!”

“Come on, boy!” Mark clicks his tongue and tugs on the reins. Thunder runs and brings them away and Mark tries to tune out Jisung’s pleas as he chases behind them hopelessly.

Mark doesn’t bring them to his home, he takes them a little way past. It’s the first place he could think of. It should be safe from anyone who’s trying to find him— he hasn’t gone there for a very long time. The last time was when he was eight.

Once they’re there, Mark sees that it’s like nothing’s changed.

It’s as beautiful as he remembers. The water in the creek still glistens serenely as if it’s been untouched all these years— still ever so clear that you can see your own feet when you step in. It flows for quite a stretch, Mark remembers running along the creek when he was younger and never being able to find where the creek ends. Part of it was because his mother called him back before he could run off far enough.

The rocks in the creek still look like they’ve been arranged to create a path perfect for jumping on. Mark used to do it all the time whenever he came here. He’d jump along the rocks, racing with the tiny fishes swimming in the creek, naively believing he could beat them. His mother would be at the side, watching him, occasionally calling out for him to be careful. He was never careful. He slipped and bled his knee a few times too many but it’s all fond memories now. He liked it here a lot and he finds that he still does. He likes the woody thin trees running along the side of the creek, how they sway in the breeze. He likes the colour of the leaves, a cozy duet of red and orange in autumn but a refreshing luscious green in summer, just like how they appear in front of him now.

Mark leaves Thunder to quench his thirst and wander along the creek freely while he takes refuge on top of a big old rock by the side. The rock is cool and wet to the touch but he doesn’t really mind. He sits on top of it, surrounded by ferns and fallen leaves and relaxes the tensed muscles of his shoulders. Jeno on the other hand chooses to take his boots off and rolls up his pants. Mark stretches out his legs, his feet touching the ground as he watches Jeno. Jeno toes the water to test it out before he steps in slowly. The temperature of the water seems pleasing going by the tiny smile that appears on Jeno’s face. The water reaches to below his knees and he takes a slow turn as he absorbs in the beauty and tranquility of the place.

He ends his leisure twirl in Mark’s direction. The smile on his face is a keeper. “How’d you even know of this place?”

Mark has known of this place since forever. It was a ways further from Jeno’s house than he had expected but he’s glad he decided to come here. He doesn’t know the next time he will otherwise. He leans back, arms stretched behind him, palms flat on the cool surface of the rock.

He gives an easy smile and a half-hearted shrug. “Let’s just say if I was in your woods yesterday, you're in my woods now.”

“This place is amazing. I love it here!” Jeno exclaims. He grins, spinning fast, arms spread wide, head lifted up to feel the sunlight on his face filtering through the canopy. The water splatters and dances energetically around him.

Mark loves it too. Mark’s woods is similar to Jeno’s in the sense that it isn’t too far off from his home. He used to beg all the time for his mother to bring him here despite knowing how packed his days were. Sometimes he gets lucky and his mother would relent, sneaking them out quietly through the back gates.

He’d splash about in the water, getting himself soaked through despite being fully aware he wasn’t allowed to. He’d run between the trees and crunch the leaves under his feet. On rare good days, his mother would prepare them a picnic and they’d spend the whole of lunch there, listening to the water flowing melodiously beside them, to the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds. It feels like he’s been brought back in time.

He watches Jeno jumps the rocks just like he used to, sees Jeno slip twice and he shakes his head when Jeno starts chasing after a frog. Jeno is wet from top to bottom and he reminds Mark so much of his younger self that he lets out a laugh under his breath without meaning to.

Jeno catches it and turns his head back. The frog makes its escape. Jeno raises a judging brow as he turns fully towards Mark, hands on his hips.

“You bring me here to this wonderful place and you’re just going to sit there on your rock like some boring old prune?”

Mark raises a brow back. Does Jeno expect him to get down there and mess around in the water like him? That’s out of the question— it’s been out of the question for years. He stopped doing that when he stopped coming here. He doesn’t do things like that anymore. He grew up, shouldered greater responsibilities and he just… didn’t think it fit him anymore. Now it’s always about the right actions, the right words, the right decision. Ever since his mother died, it’s all his father had taught him.

Sometimes, he thinks about it. He wonders if he’d jumped the gap too fast from a boy to a young man. Like flipping a coin— a quick flip and the side changes. Heads to tails. Boy to man. His mother passed away, his father changed. Inevitably, he had to change to. Heads to tails. Boy to man.

Jeno watches him, waiting expectantly for an answer. Mark decides against responding to Jeno’s taunts the way Jeno expects him to. He closes his eyes instead. “I am practicing my cowardice on this rock.”

Jeno barks a laugh. “You’re actually bitter about me calling you a coward?”

“Yes.”

“Petty ass.”

Mark makes an indignant face with his eyes closed. “Do not provoke the coward.”

Jeno scoffs. “If it makes you feel any better,” he raises his voice just so Mark wouldn’t tune him out, “I am now officially a coward too.”

_‘So, a runaway.’ ‘Depends. Does a runaway plan on returning home?’ ‘Ah, a coward then.’_

Does Jeno plan on returning home too? Mark opens his eyes and meets Jeno’s inquisitively. His tone carries no malice when he speaks. “I thought you didn’t want to go back.”

“I don’t,” Jeno answers, looking down at where he’s splashing the water back and forth absentmindedly with his foot. “But I should, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Mark says truthfully. “That’s up to you to decide.”

Jeno, for the first time since they came to the creek, doesn’t have any words to say.

Mark watches him quietly. He’s just a boy in Mark’s eyes, but he carries so much weight unfit for a boy on his shoulders. Unspoken hardships that Mark doesn’t know about but he sees how it wears Jeno down.

It’s not his place to offer Jeno any words of advice because he doesn’t know what Jeno’s going through. What he knows though, is that Jeno shouldn’t be alone. And neither should Jaemin nor Jisung.

His voice reaches Jeno quietly. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I think if you have at least one reason to go back, it’s a good enough reason.”

Jeno looks up at him, pausing the idle movement of his foot in the water. He squints at Mark from the glare of the sun, and earnestly asks, “What’s your reason then?”

Mark’s reason is simple. “My father.”

Jeno doesn’t prod him about it. Instead, he sighs. He climbs on one of the rocks in the creek and squats on top of it, his right hand swishing mindlessly in the water. “I do have a few reasons to go back but Jaemin definitely isn’t one of them.” Mark thinks it sounds like a lie Jeno’s trying to convince himself to believe and Jeno must have thought the same because he stares at Mark offendedly and says, “Don’t give me that look.”

Mark looks at him bewilderedly. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re giving me that look with your eyes!” Jeno points at Mark accusingly, water splashing off his fingers. He’s flustered and he’s trying to hide it. “Like you don’t believe a word I’m saying! Stop that! You barely know me, you don’t get to judge.”

Mark scoffs in retaliation and looks at him challengingly. “But we ran away together. This is our getaway. _Romantic_ getaway?” Mark lifts his eyebrows suggestively, waits for Jeno to laugh. Jeno does. Mark smiles at the sound and backs down from the tease. He shrugs. “I think it’s safe to say I know you a bit.”

Jeno lets out an incredulous huff, eyeing Mark sharply but without bite. “So you do know how to joke around. Almost thought you didn’t know what humour was from how you kept brooding on your rock.”

Mark gives a half-hearted roll of his eyes. Jeno laughs at it. “Hey,” he gently calls out to Jeno now that the mood’s lighter than it was before. He gathers his hands in his lap and waits for Jeno to look at him. “I’m sorry Jaemin got mad at you because of me. And that I made things worse for you.”

Jeno shakes his head. He sits himself down cross-legged on the rock. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Jaemin’s wary of people in general, it’s not just you. He was mad because he thought I was being careless and reckless.”

“He was worried about you,” Mark offers.

Jeno looks at him pointedly, his expression of one that says _you’re giving me that look again._ Like Mark knows Jeno isn’t admitting the truth and is waiting for Jeno to acknowledge it out of his own will. Jeno sighs, subtly averting Mark’s gaze, like he’s afraid of being read through his eyes. “I know. I wasn’t supposed to be in the woods when I met you,” he says, sounding regretful. “But it wasn’t a big deal! I can take care of myself! It’s just that now with Jaehyun gone, Jaemin feels like he needs to take care of _everyone_. I keep telling him he’s not alone. It’s just so frustrating when he won’t listen.”

Mark could never understand what their worries are about but he listens to Jeno patiently.

Jeno hunches his shoulders together. “It’s like he forgets that he can depend on me. He’s so strung tight lately and it’s so hard to breathe around him recently. I just wish,” Jeno exhales heavily. His shoulders droop. His voice becomes smaller. “I just wish he’d stop acting that way. And trust me a little more.”

Mark nods, trying to understand where Jeno is coming from. It sounds like a burst of pent-up frustrations and it must have been hard to have kept it all in without having anyone to talk to. Mark’s glad Jeno’s venting it all out instead of suppressing it even more. He can tell that Jaemin means a lot to Jeno and that Jeno is upset about Jaemin not treating him like how he wants Jaemin to. If Jeno didn’t have a listening ear before, Mark is more than willing to give it to him. Everyone deserves a little kindness in Mark’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m ranting to you,” Jeno mutters. “You don’t even know me.”

“No,” Mark drawls. “I know you a bit, remember? I know you climb trees really well, and that you love to scare people from their sleep, and that your dagger is tucked behind your back right now.”

Jeno’s hand instinctively goes to touch his back just to check if his dagger is still there. He frowns at Mark. “How–”

“I saw you put it there right in front of me when you hopped off Thunder’s back,” and because he can, he adds, “fool.”

Jeno squints at him suspiciously. “I guess I did.” He sits up straighter, his shoulders looser now and his smile looks more bright than worn. “Thanks for listening then, I guess. Jaemin’s just a little difficult sometimes.”

“Well I guess that’s just how families are,” Mark offers.

Jeno eyes him thoughtfully. “Like your dad?”

“Like my dad,” Mark affirms, a weight in his chest compelling him to avert his gaze.

Jeno splashes his hand into the water and splashes droplets of it in Mark’s direction even if he’s too far to reach him. It works however into getting Mark to look at him. “Hey. Here, I’ll listen to you rant in exchange for listening to mine.”

Mark shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Jeno blows a whistle and makes a show of getting turned down. “I just got rejected on my own romantic getaway.”

Mark scoffs at him and relents at the sight of his friendly smile. “I write letters to my mom,” Mark provides and the weight of his words hang heavy between them. His mother’s dead, they both know this.

“I know she can’t respond.” Mark shrugs. “But that’s the whole point, I guess. It makes her a good secret-keeper.”

“I can be good at keeping secrets too,” Jeno informs.

Mark looks at him, unimpressed. “Better than the dead?”

“Obviously.” Jeno smiles. “Try me. Come on, tell me a secret.”

A secret. What secret does he have? Which secret should he share?

_I’m the prince. My father’s the king. I ran away because I didn’t want to deal with my obligations._

He’s not foolish enough to confess everything to Jeno. Secrets should remain secrets, especially for him. He doesn’t want Jeno to see him differently just because there’s suddenly a title to his name.

Mark swallows dryly and brings his eyes to meet Jeno’s anticipating ones. He scrunches his face and says, “I peed in that creek once.”

Jeno’s jaw drops and he makes the most repulsed face. “What the hell! You couldn’t have told me before I stepped in?” He immediately pulls his hand out of the water and shakes the droplets off. “You’re disgusting!”

Mark laughs out loud, not expecting Jeno to react so strongly. “It was more than a decade ago! I was a kid! Don’t act like you’ve never done it before!” Jeno scrunches his nose and it makes Mark laugh harder.

“Gross!” Jeno yells offendedly. He gathers himself to the middle of the rock as much as he can, looking warily at the water around him. When his eyes meet Mark’s, he instantly breaks into a laugh as well, his eyes curving into crescents. “I think that’s the first time I heard you really laugh.”

Mark calms down from his fit, his cheeks still smiling. “What?”

There’s a weird unreadable smile on Jeno’s face that makes Mark feel like Jeno sees through him. His chest tightens.

“Nothing, I just, when I first saw you. You looked… sad.”

Mark had thought Jeno looked sad too when Jeno had asked Mark to take him with him. Jeno’s lips curl up knowingly. “I guess it takes one to know one, huh?”

“Your turn,” Mark urges. “Tell me a secret.”

“You want to know my secrets?” Jeno’s lips stretch into a mysterious grin.

“Don’t get too excited. Just one will do.”

The smile stays on his face as he cocks his head to motion Mark over. “Come here. Come over here and I’ll tell you.”

The grin on Jeno’s face is starting to look terrifying. Mark suddenly regrets his words. “Actually, I’m good over here. Wasn’t that interested in your secret anyway.”

There’s a mischievous glint in Jeno’s eyes now. “No, no. Come here, I’ll share it with you.” Jeno stands and wades through the water to get to him.

Mark starts scooting to the back of his rock. “Stay away, Jeno. This is an order.”

Jeno gives him a funny look. “And I told you to come here, this is _my_ order.”

The downside about no one knowing he’s a prince is that he can’t order people around. Not that he does it like a habit, but in times like this, it would certainly be useful to have Jeno obeying his words. Jeno most definitely doesn’t look like he’s planning on listening to him.

Mark bolts up to escape but Jeno catches him quickly, yanking his arm and making him fall forward into the creek on his hands and knees. He’s wet through just like that.

“Jeno!”

Jeno cackles delightedly.

“I’m all wet!” Mark cries, standing up and shaking the water off himself.

“What’s so wrong with getting wet?”

_It isn’t proper,_ Mark wants to say. _If this was in the palace I’d be done for._

Mark glares at him and kicks a gigantic splash of water aimed to his face. Jeno splutters. Mark grins satisfactorily. “Anything wrong?” Mark mocks.

“Nothing,” Jeno grits out and he starts advancing towards him. Mark takes that as his cue to run and Jeno doesn’t hesitate to chase after him. Their feet splash water about the creek, their movements loud in the tranquility that the creek holds. Their laughters don’t destroy the serenity around them, instead enhancing it with joy and child-like delight that’s been missing from its ensemble for years.

Mark looks back over his shoulder, sees Jeno a considerable distance away from him. Jeno must know that Mark thinks he’s safe because he shouts, “You’re dead once I get my hands on you!”

Jeno does eventually, after a lot of splashing and shoving, kicking and tousling about. Jeno gets Mark in a headlock and Mark has to elbow Jeno’s stomach to get Jeno to release him. They both ultimately retreat to sit at the side of the creek while they catch their breath, their shirts off and spread over the rocks to dry. Mark’s never been half-naked anywhere outside the palace but Jeno seems right at home.

Mark doesn’t mean to pry but it’s hard not to notice that Jeno has scars all over his toned body. Faint, pink lines decorate his pale skin. There are scars near his shoulder, down his side, at the back near his waist. Plenty of tiny small scratches, all remnants of a swift blade. Mark tries not to stare.

“My secret,” Jeno says when he catches Mark averting his eyes, “is that I wasn’t always good with the dagger.” He looks down at a scar that runs below his ribcage, posing itself like an additional rib.

“Well it paid off, didn’t it?” Mark asks gently, because Jeno wields his dagger fearlessly now, Mark can attest to that and he’s sure every scar is a testament to his skills. Mark watches the water glisten silently under the now growingly mild sun rays. The sun’s shifted its spot in the sky such that it’s now mostly blocked by the canopy. The evening will come to greet them and night will fall. If Jeno plans on returning home, they should go soon. _They,_ because Mark isn’t going to make Jeno walk back the distance on his own even if Mark knows he should go back to his own home soon too.

“I sure hope it did,” Jeno laughs quietly. “Thanks for bringing me here, Minhyung.”

It’s weird, how easily Mark finds himself getting used to the name again. How much he actually misses being called by his own name.

Mark turns to him and asks, “So, are we staying? Or are we going back?”

“Going back,” Jeno answers resolutely, but he gives Mark a weird look. “We?”

Mark fidgets, feeling shy all of a sudden. “Can I send you back?”

Jeno laughs in disbelief. “You’re asking me if you can send me back? Minhyung, _I’m_ supposed to be the one asking for the favour.”

_Minhyung._ It’s so strange yet… fitting. In this place, in the memories of himself here, he is Minhyung. Minhyung belongs here, in this creek, in all the cherished memories he’s made up till the time he stopped coming here. Minhyung is a boy. Mark is a prince. He likes Minhyung.

“But thank you. I would appreciate you sending me back.”

Mark nods, closes his eyes and lays his back flat on the grass. “We’ll give our shirts a bit more to dry, then we can set off.”

Jeno hums his reply, laying back on the grass as well if the sound of rustling is any indication.

Mark thinks if the world couldn’t give compassion to boys like Jeno, Mark could maybe give a little bit of it himself.

Broken boys should care for broken boys.

_Dear mom,_

_It’s my ninth birthday! It’s my first ever without you. I miss you a lot. I haven’t gone down to the creek since you’ve been gone. I asked dad to take me, he said he would. I don’t think he meant it. It’s been months. I think dad is lonely with you gone. He’s very busy and doesn’t try to make me laugh anymore. Is it weird to miss him? It is, isn’t it?_

_Dad also says it’s better for me to start calling him ‘Your Majesty’ whenever people are around. There are always people around. I like to call him dad, though. I’m the only one who can. Everyone calls him ‘Your Majesty’. Dad also says I should go by my official royal name. It’s weird. I’m not used to it, dad says it will take time. Whenever people say ‘Prince Mark’ I forget they’re referring to me. It’s funny, isn’t it? Oh, dad gave me a new set of arrows as a gift! They’re so beautiful. I wish you were here to see them. Love you always._

_Minhyung_

Mark reaches the palace at sunset. He enters by the back gates— only a handful ever uses them and rarely at this time of the day, therefore taking the guards by surprise when he suddenly rides through. There’s not much to see of the palace at the back gates— only a single path worn into the earth over time between the neat rows of apricot trees. It provides the shortest path to the stable and if Mark had thought that would allow his return to be quiet, he was mistaken. The east wing of the palace is inclined on a hill and its garden grants a view of the apricot tree assembly. There’s a flurry of movements up there from the maids and servants when he bursts into view, the clip-clop of Thunder’s hooves being his fanfare. Thunder dashes them to the stable, a route he is more than familiar with and Mark doesn’t need to look around to know that the guards who’ve spotted him are rushing to report his appearance. He doesn’t hurry to bring Thunder to his stall nor leave Thunder once Thunder’s settled in. He takes the time to allow his heart to toughen up before he faces the consequences of his actions. He leaves Thunder plenty of hay and kisses his head to thank him before he convinces himself to leave.

With a heavy weight in his chest, he slings on his bow and arrows as he makes his way out, bracing himself for the repercussions of his actions. A blur in the distance changes into a familiar shape, taking on the form of a good friend. Yukhei charges towards him like an angry bull and it makes him stop in his tracks. The furious look on Yukhei’s face is very telling of how everyone else will welcome his return. Yukhei doesn’t greet him, doesn’t even utter a single word— he yanks Mark by his arm and jostles them past anyone in their way as he tugs Mark along. Mark knows where he’s being brought to and he has no choice but to be pulled along, wincing at the tight grasp Yukhei has around his bicep.

“Yes, Yukhei, me too, it’s nice to see you again,” Mark huffs under his breath as he struggles to keep up with him.

“No, not nice to see you. You don’t know how much I want to punch your face, your Highness,” Yukhei grits out. “I had one job and now I might just lose it.”

“They’re sacking you?” Mark asks, baffled.

Harshly, Yukhei whispers, “Well, we’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

“Yukhei,” Mark says cautiously under his breath as Yukhei hauls them through corridors. “How much trouble am I in?”

“Enough that no one is batting an eye at how roughly I’m handling you,” Yukhei mutters quietly.

In front of the king’s study, Mark tidies himself up to the best that he can while Yukhei steals his bow and arrows away and passes them to one of the guards at the door. The guards announce their presence. The door opens, they step in, the door closes.

“Your Majesty,” Yukhei greets, his head bowed down. “The prince.”

It’s like Mark has come full circle— the first room he enters upon his return is the last room he was in before he left. Then, it was just him and the king. It felt like a lifetime ago. In the time he had been gone he had been confronted by a boy with a dagger, met the boy’s family, brought the boy to his secret place and discovered that the boy might be just as sad and broken as he is. If not, more. And now Mark’s back here again like none of that matters, like it was all a wild dream soon to be forgotten.

Mark remembers what happened here before he left. The memories relive themselves in his head. He remembers listening to his father’s proposition calmly at first but finding himself disagreeing the more he listened. He had raised his point respectfully, got shot down, but he didn’t relent— he made his point again, punctuating his every word in bold red.

_What would you do, then?_ His father had asked him, eyes glaring at him with muted anger. Mark’s weren’t any different. Words were thrown between them like sparks, clash after clash. A knock from outside, someone asked them hesitantly if everything was fine. It got ignored.

_I wouldn’t keep lying to the people! Aren’t you ashamed?_ Mark had exclaimed, hands slamming down onto the desk loudly, the frustration inside him building. A portent of disaster, a warning he should have heeded. _I’m ashamed, dad! You can’t keep ignoring their pleas!_

_Unless you have a better solution, I don’t want to hear another word!_

Mark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had stared straight at his father and without thinking he lashed out, _How is a king this pathetic?_

He remembers being shocked at his own words, at the way he acted so defiantly— something he’s never done or even imagined to have done. Yet the fury burned so strongly inside him that he dove into the fire of his emotions without thinking. He just felt unbearably suffocated of everything, of being the prince, of being involved in his country’s affairs, of choosing who deserved better and who didn’t. He didn’t want this, he never asked for any of this.

_Leave!_

Not his father, no. His father was silent. It was the voice inside his head screaming at him, scrambling to get through to him, reaching him through his panic and fear. The room was perfumed heavily with tension and he couldn’t bear the weight of his father’s silence. So he ran— he remembers his father’s eyes when he did. He turned away sharply and shoved past the doors, chest heaving from overwhelming rage at his own fate. He remembers yelling at Yukhei to get off his tail as he stormed to the stable. Remembers riding away from the palace grounds, how he had pointed his arrow warningly at anyone who tried to stop him. The arrows didn’t, but the madness in his eyes did.

He rode away with heat prickling in his eyes, conscience picking on his choices, and he thought about how weak he was; was that all that he was? A prince who couldn’t fight to be heard, who only knew how to run? Was he going to run away from every bleak situation? Hiding behind the excuse of _I never wanted this._ And he realised no, he wasn’t ashamed of his father’s choices. He’s ashamed of the choices he didn’t dare to make and ashamed at how cowardly he had questioned the ones his father did. He felt unfit to be a prince.

Now standing here before his father again, he feels utter regret at the words he had spitted out. He wonders if his father had gone ahead with the proposition despite his childish show of objection. He was ignorant and failed to see that his father had chosen what was ultimately the wisest route given the situation. He had dwelled on it in the time he was away from home. He knows now, better than before, that he is unlearned compared to his father— he has ways to go before he deserves to be respected rightfully as royalty.

“Your Majesty,” he says bowing his head down as well.

The king’s study isn’t large or extravagant. It’s humble elegance within four walls. The walls are lined with bookshelves crafted from wood older than Mark, filled with stunning books written by nobles, his father’s father and fathers of the generations before him. Knowledge passed from king to king.

Mark’s father spends much of his time in this room, hence the place where most of their conversations take place. The walls are lovely pastel blue and have always been for as long as Mark can remember. The wall opposite the door is the only one that’s spared from being furnished with bookshelves, the reason being they bear beautiful arc windows that bring warmth into the room. Outlined with polished wooden frames, the windows are decorated with off-white curtains that have been pulled back to allow in the golden streaks of sunset, a warm silky glow spilling over the room.

There are large picture frames of the royal family, past and present, in the spaces between the windows, his mother’s smile always shining down on him whenever he enters although he can’t bear to look at her right now. In front of the windows sits a beautiful piece of mahogany— an elegant desk with intricately carved patterns, treasured from a time even before his father was born. To the side of the desk, Doyoung, Mark’s tutor and loyal son of a late trusted companion of the king, stands upright. Standing behind the desk gazing out the window is the loudest man in the room, even in his silence, the king. Mark’s father. Poised, graceful and ever so charismatic. Mark can’t bear to look at him too. Shame only churns more uncomfortably in his stomach.

His father turns at the sound of his voice and his gaze is unreadable— a practiced skill required of the royalty, his father once told him— as he eyes Mark once over.

Starkly different from his father, Doyoung’s emotions are clearly visible on his face. There are creases on his forehead and his lips are downturned. He’s concerned— he always is whenever it comes to anything about Mark— and Mark feels a surging rush of disappointment. Mark wonders what the two could have been talking about before he arrived. Perhaps his father had wanted Doyoung to educate him better, to train him to behave less brashly, get him to act less a boy, more a prince.

When Mark takes in his father’s face, he’s startled by how much his father aged in the time he was gone. His cheeks are sunken and his eyes are hollow, the skin beneath it grey. Or maybe his father had always looked like this and it took some time apart for him to see it clearly. He feels horrible for adding to the burdens and responsibilities his father carries proudly.

His father’s gaze on him is a weight to hold. Distinctly, his father speaks, “Yukhei, report to Lord Shin, he will brief you on your post.”

Yukhei indicates his affirmation and takes his leave.

The silence is heavy and Mark waits for either of them to speak.

“Are you hurt?” His father asks composedly, breaking the viscous tension with unexpected grace.

Mark had expected worse than this and he finds that he doesn’t know what to say. He redirects the focus of the question away from himself.

“Are you banishing Yukhei?” he questions steadily instead.

“Your Highness,” Doyoung speaks up, his tone stern and his eyes reminding Mark of his place and manners.

Mark knows better than to speak rudely again to the king, above all that, his father, but he doesn’t want to lose Yukhei in any circumstance. Yukhei has been his royal guard ever since he was fifteen. Despite being the same age, Yukhei was far more dependable and capable at fifteen. Yukhei is more mature, decisive, agile and nimble than Mark could ever be. Mark saw him as a rival first— Yukhei was stronger, had an enviable stature, handsome features and a commanding aura among many other things. But with all the things Yukhei could possibly be, Yukhei was assigned his personal royal guard. And of all the things Yukhei chose to be, Yukhei became his friend.

Mark will not lose Yukhei against all odds.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, I ordered him not to follow me. He was just following orders. You can’t banish him simply for obeying what I told him to do, it’s not—”

“Yukhei will not be banished, Your Highness,” Doyoung says firmly, disapproving of the way Mark is speaking so brashly and blatantly ignoring the King’s question. “His responsibilities will still remain.”

Mark’s eyes search for confirmation and when he sees that neither Doyoung nor his father are lying, he collects himself. He meets his father’s gaze. Stiffly, he answers, “I am not hurt anywhere, your Majesty.”

His father nods and glances at Doyoung. “Doyoung, could you give us a moment alone.”

Doyoung concedes, bows his head and leaves the room. Mark’s father takes a seat in the antique chair behind the desk and gestures Mark to take the seat opposite him. Mark sits in front of the desk, his back straight, clammy hands on his thighs.

This is where his apology should come in, where he announces his regret and guilt, and promises he’ll do better. This is where his father rightfully reprimands him.

His father takes his time to look at him— Mark knows he must look utterly improper. Crumpled clothes, scent of mud and earth clinging to him, greasy hair, dirt on his face. Very un-prince like, very unlike what his father taught him and wants him to be.

“I’m sorry.”

His father speaks it, not him and it stuns him to hear it.

His father leans forward on his elbows, hands clasped together in front of his mouth. He exhales slowly through his nose. His shoulders sag and Mark can see that his walls are no longer up, no more hardened expressions or unreadable eyes. He looks so much like a father rather than a king in this moment that it throws Mark out of loop for a second. In this room, it’s just a father and his son. And Mark misses him so dearly.

“I didn’t do it,” his father speaks again.

Distractedly, with a hundred thoughts racing through his head, Mark repeats, “You didn’t do it?”

“Against the advice of the council, yes, I didn’t do it.”

Against the advice of the council… the king chose to listen to him? Against the words of people with more power, more knowledge of fighting and winning wars, more competent than Mark could ever be… but why? Surely his father was mistaken to have weighed in his foolish objection.

“Your words bore truth I couldn’t ignore. If we kept prioritising the troops up north, the people would feel resentful that much of our resources are diverted away from them. You were right in reminding me that we’ve left the farmers and civilians hanging for so long. We promised to help them and we would have lost their trust.”

His father’s words swirl like a slurry in his head. “But the military needs the resources. That’s what you told me. When our bases get invaded, the troops will be done for. They’ll be outnumbered, they’re going to die up there, dad, without all the arms and supplies.”

His father lets out a worn sigh. “A war, Mark, is never what we want. We should never want to sacrifice the lives of our men. A battle of all things, should be the last thing to turn to.”

It boggles Mark’s mind. Their very argument before Mark left was about sending supplies to the troops in the north to ensure that they’re fully equipped. This meant a large diversion of their budget away from rebuilding towns and farms that had been devastated by floods, which may only further harm their already unstable economy. Mark wasn’t able to agree with his father’s opinion and his father wasn’t able to agree with his.

With a decade old dispute and numerous disagreements between their nation and their neighbour from across the border, the only thing that has prevented the neighbouring state from attacking their bases up north where the border is most vulnerable is tolerance. They tolerate the disputes to ensure their own peace and safety. That, along with the threat of more trade embargo from allies of Mark’s kingdom, ensured that their neighbour kept to their own side of the border. But the tolerance has been wearing thin as of late, and it was only prudent that Mark’s father strengthen their defences in the north at all cost. _At all cost._ With how quickly the neighbouring troops are moving closer to the borders, they need to be prepared. More arms, more men, more supplies— that was what his father told him. Even if it meant channelling resources away from the civilians. A sacrifice for the greater good, one of the lords from the council had always preached.

But Mark couldn’t comprehend ‘at all cost’. Would the civilians whose homes and farms have been devastated understand ‘at all cost’? That their nation isn’t able to help them but is able to prepare for the possibility of war, of more destruction and devastation?

Mark understood that they had to build up their military otherwise they’ll be on the losing end but he simply could not turn away from the fact that they’ve been endlessly lying to the people. Lying to them about supplying help, about rebuilding their homes, farms, shops and providing them economic stability. He knew that a choice had to be made but he simply couldn't understand why the innocent civilians had to be the ones to bear the consequences. It wasn't fair and it wasn’t right in his eyes.

But a war wasn’t right either, putting their country at risk of being invaded, of falling to the hands of another kingdom wasn’t right. His father had a valid point but so did he. And when the argument grew heated and Mark raised his voice back, called his father things he shouldn’t have, he knew at that moment there was no taking back his words. He didn’t find it liberating at all. He didn’t know why he expected it to be, instead he felt more suffocated than ever. Shame crashing with anger, big strong waves pushing at him and pulling him apart. He felt lost, confused and ashamed. So he took the easy way out— he ran away.

Mark remembers once, on a trouble-less day, when the sun was bright and there was not a single cloud in the sky, his father had stolen him away from one of Doyoung’s dry lessons. Mark was fifteen at that time and he remembers his father bringing them to the garden in the east palace. His father was in a pleasant mood and that made Mark feel at ease too. He doesn’t always get to spend time with his father so freely. He liked it. They talked and talked as they strolled and Mark remembers thinking that he was happy. At one point, his father sat them down at a bench surrounded by beautiful crimson roses and Mark had asked him if he liked being king. A curiosity that came as a spur.

His father said, _Mark,_ and Mark remembers it clearly down to the way his father held his hands, _Mark, having royal blood running through your veins means you have the hardest job, to make the wisest choice. Not the right one because there never is a right one. But there will come a day where choosing seems impossible and you have to think, not of your name, or what people will think of you, but of the consequences your decision will bring. If it will be worth everything, if it will allow you to sleep at night knowing you chose what you did. Remember this always— it is our duty to serve the people, but it is also a privilege. We are but a small nation but we are still a nation and the people trust us to do what is best for them. Being their king is an honour for me. I am proud to serve them._

_An honour._ An honour to serve. But what exactly is serving the people? Aiding the military to keep them safe, to protect their land? That’s serving the people. Aiding the towns devastated by the floods and helping them rebuild all of it from scratch? That’s serving the people too.

As a small nation, their resources aren’t plenty and sacrifices always have to be made.

Mark understood his father’s decision to strengthen their defences, but he didn’t at the same time.

And now he doesn’t understand anything at all. If his father had wanted to strengthen their troops, why didn’t he? What happens now?

“We managed to call for a negotiation. We’re going into negotiation with the neighbouring kingdom. They’ve agreed to our request for diplomacy.”

A negotiation? The most they’ve ever shown was tolerance. Why now?

“Their internal affairs are worse than ours. This long running dispute has been hurting them, and the weather was unkinder to their towns than to ours. It’s taken a huge toll on them.”

“And our military?” Mark asks carefully. “And our people?”

“The troops will still get supplies but it’s limited. It’s sufficient to hold defences but not enough to initiate an attack.” His father’s lips press into a thin line. “We’ve started the restoration works in a few of the most devastated towns. We’re prioritising bigger farms and essential shops, we can’t repair everything. Some of it will have to be delayed till much later when the economy improves and the remunerations kick in. We need to hold on to part of the resources we currently have for the forces protecting our land.”

Mark lets out the breath he had been holding in. This is far better news than he had expected. He thought there would be physical conflicts breaking out at the border. He never expected that his father would be swayed by his words, no matter how foolish he thought they were.

“I thought this news might make you happy.”

“It’s better than what I thought was going to happen,” Mark exhales as he lowers his head into his hands, his fingers combing through his hair shakily. He mutters, “What were the odds they’d agree to a negotiation.”

“But resources are finite, you must know this. If the negotiations fall through, it’s back to where we initially were. Everything has to be supplied to keep them off our borders.”

Mark steadies his breath. He lifts his head and meets his father’s gaze. “I understand.”

There’s a pregnant pause and he hesitates to speak. The fact that he had spoken out of turn to his father still hovers around him like a fog and it won’t dissipate as long as it picks at his conscience. His father is anything but a pathetic king. His father practiced wisdom and tackled the problem head-on while he foolishly ran away. He was wrong and he can’t forgive himself if his father doesn’t forgive him.

He swallows thickly. “I’m sorry for disrespecting you. And acting out of turn, I shouldn’t have done that.”

His father looks at him, a kind yet weathered expression on his face. “You can’t always run when things get hard, Mark. The conflicts won’t disappear. You run, you come back, everything is just as it was.”

Mark wrings his hands in his lap. “I know. I was just so angry. It all didn’t make any sense, why things had to be this way. It wasn’t fair to anybody and I just— I don’t know— In the heat of the moment, I couldn’t think—”

“Is that why you ran? Because you were angry?”

Mark speaks quietly, ashamed. “I didn’t want to deal with it. It was too much for me.”

A moment of heavy silence passes. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

Mark looks bewilderedly at his father. “Dad, no– what—”

“I disrespected you as well,” his father says genuinely. “But I have to teach you to know your place, so many people had to work hard because of you. Do you know how many knights went searching for you without rest?”

Mark doesn’t speak.

“It was dangerous what you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

His father clears his throat. “There’s something you should be aware that happened while you were gone. We’ve started carrying out patrols. Knights are now being sent to patrol civilian areas because there is word that fighters may be on a rise.”

Fighters? Mark hasn’t heard of them in a long while.

“Which was why it was dangerous for you to have run off alone. As your father and king, I have to ensure that you learn from your mistakes. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll join and head the patrols a few days a week on top of your lessons. You’ll be given additional lessons above those you’re already having as well. Doyoung will explain it all to you.”

Mark doesn't ask more about the fighters, he figures he’ll bombard all the questions to Doyoung later on. He simply nods to show he understands.

“I am capable of giving you a stricter punishment if you fail to comply. Are you clear on your duties?”

“Yes, I understand,” Mark answers collectedly. “I’ll carry out my duties diligently.”

His father looks at him and Mark tries not to show uncertainty when he looks into his father’s eyes. it’s still so strange. It’s a recurring feeling he feels– it keeps niggling at him, poking him in his chest. He doesn’t understand why he misses his father when he’s right there. The king is always right there.

“I’m glad you’re safe.” His father says resolutely, his eyes shine with the tiniest flicker of warmth but it crashes on him like a huge wave. He struggles to stand firm and not crumble under it.

He nods meekly.

“Mark, you weren’t wrong to have done what you did. You could have expressed yourself better, but I could have treated you fairer as well.”

Mark’s chest squeezes. His throat gets tight and his heart rattles achingly in his chest.

“You may go,” his father says at last when he doesn’t say anything in response.

Mark lets out a silent exhale, bows his head and takes his leave. He finds Doyoung waiting for him outside. Doyoung’s hand attaches itself to his back right as he emerges from the doors and he starts them walking.

Mark swallows to ease the tightness of his throat. He blinks away the heat behind his eyelids as he scans over his shoulders. “My arrows and my—”

“Are safe. I’ve asked Yukhei to keep them for you. His Majesty told to me brief you of your new duties.”

“He’s informed me of them,” Mark clears his throat. “He told me you would tell me more.”

Doyoung nods. “You’ll be in charge of all the patrols starting tomorrow—”

“ _All_ the patrols?”

“Yes,” Doyoung looks at him sternly, not pleased at how Mark had interrupted him. “All of them. You lead them, tell them what to do and you report back to the king. You’re to follow any one of the patrol teams but Yukhei will be by your side the whole time as per usual royal protocol.”

Doyoung shoves him to walk faster, Mark isn’t sure why. He frowns. Surely, they’re not headed for a lesson right now while he’s in this state. The day’s ended as well going by how the sun’s no longer visible in the sky.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To your chambers. You need a bath, your Highness, look at you,” Doyoung says and he makes a face. “I don’t even know where you’ve been and you come back looking like _this._ ”

“The woods,” Mark answers simply and dives into the question that’s been bothering him. “The king mentioned fighters?”

Doyoung does a brief scan of their surroundings and after confirming that no one is in a close enough vicinity to catch their words, he leans closer to Mark as they climb up the spiral staircase to Mark’s room. “There’s been talks, of protests, of a possible uprising in some towns that we’re trying to keep hush. You were right, the palace is losing the people’s trust and a number of outlying villages are growing unhappy with the palace.”

“Was that why his Majesty—”

“—is extremely thankful you voiced out the sentiments of the people. Did he tell you?”

Mark bites the inside of his cheeks. “I thought we had the fighters under control,” he murmurs distractedly instead.

Fighters, that’s the term the people opposing the palace were given. The fighters are definitely not unheard of but their activities have been on the low for years. They don’t have enough support or resources to carry out any movements against the palace.

“Yes. But they’re growing,” Doyoung says as he walks briskly, trying to move them faster to a more private place where they don’t have to speak in hushed murmurs.

It’s not surprising Mark thinks, that the fighters have started to become more active since help that was promised to the civilians had been delayed for months. He can only feel sorry and terrible that he didn’t speak up for them earlier.

“There’s word they’re taking in people even younger than you.”

That revelation comes as a shock. Mark knows they only ever take boys and girls who have come of age, and even then, mostly boys. This can only mean they’re growing desperate and might already have a plan underway.

“Any confirmed news?”

“So far none. We have to tackle things before they get too big.”

They reach Mark’s chambers and the guards outside Mark’s door lets them in. Mark dismisses them. It’s royal protocol to have guards outside his room but Mark hates it. He thinks his father is aware he’s been dismissing his guards every night ever since he was thirteen. Mark figures it’s safe to continue doing so since his father has never brought it up.

Doyoung checks to see if the servants have prepared the bath for him. Doyoung is only a few years older than Mark, but he’s a charismatic young man and he’s the most knowledgeable person Mark knows. Mark doesn’t know anyone else that takes their role as seriously as Doyoung does. Doyoung is tall and slim, always has a stern face but when he smiles, the warmth he emanates is assuring and sincere. Doyoung is his tutor by official title but unofficially, Doyoung is many things. He's Mark’s casual advisor, caretaker, scheduler and above all that, he’s a caring older brother. When Doyoung isn’t being a pain by constantly reminding Mark to dress proper, sit straight and not yawn in class, Doyoung’s company is one that Mark genuinely treasures. Doyoung treats him like a younger brother as much as he treats him like a prince.

Mark sits on his own bed and scans over his room. A random thought in his head tells him that his room is probably larger than Jeno’s kitchen. His bed is the first thing there is upon entering the room and at the far side of the wall is a window with wooden panels to keep the draft out at night. A leather lounge chair sits right by the window where Yukhei always waits for him while he changes. His bedroom extends into an additional space a distance in front of his bed, a small area of many purposes. It’s where he takes his baths when due but at all times it’s occupied by a small multi-purpose dining table and a simple desk near the corner of the wall. The desk is where he carries out his studying or reading and the dining table is where Doyoung often briefs him of his schedules while he arm-wrestles with Yukhei.

It’s nice being royalty, having these things and spaces for himself. Mark appreciates being royalty but sometimes Mark wonders if he deserves all this just because blood more precious than gold runs through his veins. He knows the only way to feel deserving is to earn it– being a prince is much more than just having royal blood. Mark has spent a lot of time wondering what he can possibly offer to show that he’s deserving of not only being called a prince, but also being treated like one. In other words, he’s spent a lot of time questioning his worth.

When Doyoung reappears from the extended part of the room, he’s greeted by Mark sitting slumped on the bed. Doyoung stands before him, hands gathered mannerly in front of his stomach. Doyoung observes him quietly, clearly aware that Mark’s mind is crawled over with thoughts. It always makes Mark feel like Doyoung is able to read his mind whenever Doyoung watches him quietly like this.

Doyoung lets out a sigh. “You look like I just gave you homework.”

Mark scoffs weakly. Doyoung eyes the space beside him and Mark shifts, a silent permission he doesn’t think is necessary between them. Doyoung is just unnecessarily upright sometimes. The bed dips under Doyoung’s weight and Doyoung sits with his hands clasped in his lap, looking absently in front instead of at Mark. He presses his lips together. “I can offer some words, if you would like them.”

Mark’s hands rest limply in his lap and his head is hung low but he twists his neck just enough to meet Doyoung’s gaze. “It’s just... I don’t know,” he shrugs weakly. “How do I stop… being so foolish?” he asks in a small voice, watching for Doyoung’s response. He sees the lines on Doyoung’s face shifting as thoughts rearrange themselves inside Doyoung’s head.

Doyoung frees his hand from where they’re clasped together in his lap to ruffle Mark’s hair lightly. He gives a kind smile. “Everyone is a little foolish.”

“But _I_ can’t afford to be.”

“Whoever told you that?” Doyoung asks.

No one. It’s common sense, isn’t it? Someone with such responsibility and influence like him shouldn’t behave so recklessly.

“Or how about this,” Doyoung tries. “Why don’t you tell me why you think you’re being so foolish?”

Why? Because Mark believes he’s still just a boy; he’s only almost eighteen, he doesn’t know what it’s like to lead a country. He’s still so ignorant about so many things, there’s so much for him to learn. But the fact is he himself knows that he is more than just a boy; he’s a boy who knows how to use spears, swords, daggers, arrows. He learns about war strategies, about diplomacy and trade, sits in on meetings determining the future of his kingdom. He’s foolish for wanting to be ‘normal’. He’s foolish if he thought he could run away and escape it all.

He glances at Doyoung. “You know why.”

“I want you to tell me why.”

Mark aversely looks at Doyoung because he really doesn’t want to have to spell it out loud. It amplifies the humiliation he feels. But Doyoung is looking at him insistently like an older brother would and there’s nothing he can do but to give in. His shoulders deflate and he looks at his feet. “Because I ran away like a coward and inconvenienced so many people.”

Doyoung’s gaze softens and his voice reaches Mark gently. “I disagree and agree.”

Mark groans because when does Doyoung ever give simple advice?

“I’m glad you’re aware of the inconvenience you caused. If anything had happened to you, how do you think the king was going to explain to his own kingdom that he couldn’t protect his own son? How do you think that would make him look to the people and to the other kingdoms?”

It’s like Doyoung has taken a needle and is using it to prick his conscience repeatedly. If that was Doyoung’s intent then he’ll be glad to know that it’s working.

“But,” Doyoung stretches the word, a hand gripping Mark’s thigh as a form of affection. “Above all else, we were worried about you. His Majesty barely slept while you were gone. Especially with rumours of the fighters’ sudden activity, every other hour he would ask if a ransom had come in for you.”

That makes Mark look up at Doyoung, hesitance in his eyes. His father had never mentioned that. His father never told him anything to say that he had been worried.

“I think he did, you just didn’t listen hard enough. The king always thinks about you.” Doyoung squeezes his thigh. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a coward.”

A taut feeling coils in Mark’s stomach and he doesn’t think he can face Doyoung directly. He flops back onto his bed and covers his eyes with his arm. “That’s because you like me. Your view is already flawed,” he murmurs.

“I’ll have you know I am the most objective person in this room. You ran away but you came back, didn’t you? That doesn’t sound to me like something a coward would do.”

Mark groans and turns, hiding his face into his mattress. Doyoung’s words always make him feel like a tangled ball of yarn. He makes a string of muffled noises that doesn’t mean anything other than to express the mess of his thoughts. He’s just so confused by everything. He doesn’t quite understand himself and he would really, really like to.

“Well that’s what I think,” Doyoung says resolutely, patting his thigh. “You can think about it while you bathe and when you dream. Best get enough rest. Your days are going to be long from now on. Patrol starts early tomorrow and you have lessons in the evening.”

Mark doesn’t make any sound to acknowledge Doyoung’s words nor does he move to wash up. He closes his eyes and takes time to simply breathe. Doyoung stays for a while more, accompanying him in the silence. Mark thinks Doyoung’s mere presence is as comforting as his words.

“I don’t think you’re a coward or foolish,” Doyoung says quietly after it seemed like none of them was going to say anything. “I think you’re simply finding courage and discovering yourself along the way.”

The words make a heavy weight sit in his chest. Doyoung sighs eventually when Mark remains silent. The sheets rustle when Doyoung gets up. Mark imagines Doyoung’s figure looming over his, a crease between his brows birthed from concern. “Have your bath before the water runs cold. Rest well. Good night, prince Mark.”

“G’night Doyoung,” Mark mutters.

Mark hears his doors open and shut and when he opens his eyes, he’s all alone in this huge, quiet space with loud noises in his mind.

_Dear mom,_

_I went down to the creek today. The last time I went there was with you. Nothing’s changed, I’m sure you would have liked it too if you were there. I brought someone with me. His name is Jeno. I don’t know him much but he calls me Minhyung. I like it. He’s nice. He reminds me a little of myself._

_I thought I was a coward for running away, I still think I am but Doyoung says I’m merely figuring myself out. Dad wasn’t as angry as I expected him to be either. But it seems I worried him a lot when I was gone. I hope he knows how sorry I am._

_Consequently, I’ll be going on patrols for signs of fighters starting tomorrow. I’ll be safe, don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself and I’ll have Yukhei with me._

_I hope you continue watching over me. I love you._

_Minhyung._

Yukhei leads the patrol for the first day because Mark hadn’t had as enough time to study all the maps of the towns they’re going to. They leave together with the rest of the knights at dawn. Mark gives them a final quick brief just before their paths separate and they split off to their respective delegated towns. Yukhei rides alongside Mark as how he usually does. It’s only when twilight fades and the sky starts perking up does Mark realise he’s on a path he’s been on before. In fact it had only been yesterday.

“Yukhei, I know this town,” he murmurs, taking in the sights as they ride into the town that’s slowly starting to stir awake. The owners of stores and carts are busy setting up their business for the day. The townspeople take small, curious glances when the group of them enters. It isn’t everyday they see people wearing royal uniforms entering town and Mark ducks his face as much as he can for fear he’ll be recognised.

“You’ve been here?” Yukhei questions, puzzled, because wherever Mark goes, Yukhei has to go too. A look of understanding passes his face. “So this is where you went when you ran off.”

They dismount their horses in the town square. Mark dispatches the knights in groups and sends them off to the different parts of town. Mark and Yukhei stick with two other knights and round up the back.

“Are you hiding anything here?” Yukhei whispers to him, loud enough for Mark to catch but quiet enough to be drowned out by the trotting of their horses. It’s supposed to be teasing but Mark can’t help feel self-conscious about it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You look anxious,” Yukhei laughs. “Don’t worry. Anything you’re hiding here, we’ll find out soon enough.”

No, Mark thinks, as his eyes dart around the town carefully in case he sees a familiar boy with a familiar shadow of a dagger beneath his clothes. Everything he wants to hide has come down here with him.

As they walk down into a street, Mark spots the bakery’s sign down the other way from the corner of his eyes. He sees a familiar back pushing a wheelbarrow round the shop to get to the back door.

It’s Jaemin.

He swallows dryly and falters in his step. He watches as Jaemin disappears from sight. Yukhei eyes him weirdly when he stops walking.

“Your Highness, is there anyth—”

“Yukhei, I’m going to go off on my own for a while. Stay here and watch over the change of shifts when the next patrol team arrives. I’ll be back by then.”

Yukhei stares at him, a furrow of his brows. “Your Highness, I cannot let you—”

“An order Yukhei,” Mark articulates with finality and urgency. Yukhei stares at him dumbfounded. Mark knows if anyone ever finds out Yukhei let him leave yet again, it’ll definitely get Yukhei in trouble. He could allow Yukhei to come with, but Yukhei’s in uniform and it’ll reveal everything he’s not ready to share with Jaemin or Jeno just yet. He doesn’t like the thought of keeping things from Yukhei either but his choices are limited and he tries to make Yukhei understand. “I’m sorry Yukhei, you just have to trust me. I have to check on something. I’ll explain everything later, I promise.”

He pulls Thunder’s rein to bring Thunder down the smaller street on their left where the bakery resides, effectively breaking away from the group. He turns his head back and sees Yukhei staring at him, the two other knights already moving ahead. Yukhei’s gaze lingers and he sighs before promptly turning away, trailing after the other knights. Mark turns back in front, tells himself he owes Yukhei too many favours.

He rounds the corner in time to see Jaemin exit the bakery’s back door, wheelbarrow leaned against the wall. Jaemin turns the other way so fast that he doesn’t even see Mark approaching with Thunder. Mark calls out to him.

Jaemin turns, his eyes narrowing to find the caller of his name. He looks startled when he sees that it’s Mark.

“You’re still around,” Jaemin notes, eyeing Mark with some confusion.

“Yeah,” Mark laughs awkwardly, bringing Thunder into a slow walk as he approaches Jaemin. “Is that weird?”

“No, unexpected is all.” Jaemin says, the expression on his face relaxing. “Jeno mentioned he didn’t think he was ever going to see you again.”

“Neither did I actually,” Mark confesses.

Jaemin watches him for a moment more before he nods down at the cloths of bread he’s carrying in his arms. “I have wheat rolls and whatnot. Do you want to join us for breakfast? Jisung would be pleased to see Thunder again. He has a thing for animals.”

Mark wasn’t expecting the offer but he’s pleased to have received it. “If you’ll allow me to give you a ride back?”

Jaemin’s lips twitch, almost into a smile Mark likes to think, but he schools it back. He hums, a curious glint in his eyes although they take to Mark kindly. “I’d like to walk, if you don’t mind.”

“Of, course,” Mark says.

“Jeno would be pleased to see you too,” Jaemin remarks as he leads them out of town. Mark merely nods in response. Thankfully they don’t bump into any knights on the way out and Mark tries not to flaunt his relief when they make it out of town soundlessly.

“Let me help you with that,” Mark offers, a hand reaching out to ease Jaemin’s load. He chides himself for not having done it sooner, his mind too occupied on not being caught.

Jaemin waves him off. “It’s just bread, they’re not bricks. I can manage.”

“I insist. I have nothing to carry anyway.”

Jaemin looks at him funny. “If it means that much that you act a gentleman.” Mark takes one of the parcels willingly when Jaemin offers it to him.

Mark’s been on this path only once before with Jeno but it strangely feels like he’s traveled along here for half of his life. It just feels very welcoming, like he’s coming home. The path is nothing exceptional, merely an elevated path of pebbles and earth smacked in between fields. It’s after a stretch more of fields of overgrown grass that houses start appearing, the fields transforming from barren to bearing crops, accompanied by fruit trees and farm animals. It feels familiar, even if it isn’t. It’s an atmosphere that puts Mark at ease. Mark thinks it’s because no one’s watching him or waiting to tend to him here like back at the palace.

“Jeno didn’t help with gathering wood this morning?”

“No,” Jaemin says. He’s quite stiff in nature and Mark isn’t sure if that’s his usual manner or if it’s just him making Jaemin uncomfortable. But Jaemin seems to be completely comfortable being this stiff so Mark doesn’t read too much into it. “We take turns. He really hates dealing with the wheelbarrow for some reason. He just drags the sacks of woods to the bakery. We made a deal. Whenever one of us get the baker’s errands at dawn and deal with the wheelbarrow, the other does the neighbour’s farm after breakfast under the sun. Either that, or we do both together.”

Mark finds it interesting to hear about their daily routines. “Does Jisung run errands too?”

“Not as much as Jeno and I,” Jaemin answers, his eyes watching the wheat fields in front of them as they walk. “We make him go to church to learn. Jeno and I stopped going a year ago. Jaehyun couldn’t support all of us alone. Jaehyun’s my brother if you weren’t aware. He’s not around currently. I do a lot of odd jobs, whatever pays. Jeno too but he mostly works at the carpenter’s in town. The farm’s something we do only when Old Man Lee needs help, it changes with the seasons. It’s summer now so there’s stuff to do almost every day. Jisung helps out with the farm sometimes but he mostly keeps our grandmother company. We don’t want her to get too lonely at home.”

It sounds like they’ve planned everything out for themselves to keep themselves supported. Mark thinks it’s admirable that they’re very in control of their lives at this age. But Mark knows it was born out of necessity, not of choice. If they don’t take care of themselves, who will?

“Do you go to church to learn?”

“No,” Mark answers. “But I have a tutor. He’s actually a family friend. He’s very smart.”

“That’s good. Jeno always complains that we should be feeding our brains. Do you run errands too? I assume you do since you have a horse.”

Mark doesn’t know how to answer without revealing himself.

He nods. “I do, in a way. I help my dad out with his job. It’s… a family thing.” Except that his family happens to be the royal one.

“Is that what brought you back to our town?”

“You could say that.”

It’s not a lie, not technically. He’s just telling the truth in a very round-about, kind of way. That’s it.

Jaemin nods understandingly, not speaking again until his house appears in sight. He clears his throat awkwardly as they approach it. “Yesterday right before Jeno left, he told me he was never going to come back. And I knew he meant it when I looked at his face.” Jaemin glances at him curiously. “But he came back. You convinced him to, didn’t you?”

“All I did was talk to him.”

Jaemin gazes at him, silent and intense. It’s not intimidating, Mark thinks it looks a little shy in that he’s trying to understand something he can’t fathom. “Well whatever you talked to him about, thank you.” The silence that comes after amplifies his gratitude. Jaemin averts his gaze, scanning over the field of barley stalks to his side. “I really need him around. I didn’t know how to tell him without feeling like–” Jaemin pauses, tries to search for his words.

“Like you would rather die than say it to him,” Mark supplies.

“Yes,” Jaemin grunts. “That wasn’t appreciated, but yes.”

Mark lets slip a breathy laugh, the corners of his lips curling up. “Well, you’re not exactly all smiles and warm hugs.”

Jaemin glances at him, a feigned displease expression on his face. “I appreciated your chivalry earlier but now I think I don’t like you much. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Mark laughs and Jaemin’s lips lift up just the slightest.

When they get to the house, Jaemin sends him to keep Thunder in the stable and tells him to hurry and join them for breakfast while he wakes the others up. Mark notes there’s fresh hay again when he brings Thunder there.

Jaemin’s and Jisung’s grandmother isn’t around when Mark enters. Jaemin tells him she left for Old Man Lee’s to help his wife with sewing quilts. While Mark sits in the kitchen, the same spot he did as last time, Jisung comes pattering sleepily down the stairs. He doesn’t look very surprised or impressed when his gaze lands on Mark, nor does he show any emotion for that matter. He barely looks like he’s fully awake. Mark doesn’t say anything else to Jisung other than ‘good morning’ but he silently notes how adorable Jisung looks with his sleeves over his fist, sleep still in his eyes and his hair seemingly combed down in a rush with a brush of his fingers. He seems to have woken up more after a few moments of sitting in front of Mark because his eyes suddenly go wide.

“You’re here,” he notes blankly but his voice quickly rises with excitement. “Does that mean Thunder is here?”

“In the stable,” Mark remarks amusedly and Jisung instantly bolts up, only to be clamped back down by Jaemin’s firm hand on his shoulder. Jaemin raises a brow at him. “Eat your food first.”

Jisung starts grabbing at the bread rolls from the basket on the table, clearly only to appease Jaemin so he can get on with his own agenda. “Can I ride him?” he asks Mark eagerly through a mouthful of bread.

Jisung’s reaction is such a contrast to the previous breakfast but it delights Mark to see him so lively. Jisung must really like animals. Calmly, Mark asks, “Do you know how?”

Jaemin gives Jisung a knowing look before he mindlessly tends to keeping the kitchen counter orderly. Jisung frowns. Mark takes that as a no.

“I can teach you,” Mark suggests and like magic, Jisung’s face lights up again.

“Good luck with that,” comes a voice from outside the kitchen. Mark turns towards it, sees Jeno climbing down the stairs, face washed and nicely dressed. He’s in a pair of loose brown trousers and a faded navy-blue linen long-sleeves with laced ties running down his chest. He looks cozy, the typical neighbourhood boy that goes around with a smile greeting everyone. Unsurprisingly, there’s an easy smile on his face when he meets Mark’s eyes. “Ji is easily scared.”

Jeno jogs down the last few steps. Mark finds it really easy to smile back. “That’s okay. I was scared when I first learnt how to ride.”

Jeno enters the kitchen, his eyes trained on Mark as he passes by. “I thought Jaemin was pulling my leg when he told me you were here. Thought he made up a whole story just to get me out of bed.” 

Jeno grabs himself a bread roll, tears it in half and stuffs it in his mouth while standing by the kitchen counter near where Jaemin is cutting up a loaf of bread. Jaemin offers Mark a slice, which Mark refuses politely, then he offers a flat bread and a number of bread rolls when Mark keeps refusing them. Jaemin forces a bread roll frustratedly into his hand. Jeno and Jisung give him hidden smiles, trying to hide their amusement watching the whole exchange. Mark isn’t trying to be rude by rejecting breakfast, he already had breakfast before he left the palace. He doesn’t feel good about accepting their food either. He looks to Jeno for help. Jeno uses his eyes to tell Mark to wait. When Jaemin turns away, Jeno gives him a quick signal and Mark passes his bread roll to Jisung who stuffs it all into his mouth at one go. Jisung ends up looking like a squirrel with nuts in its cheek. He chews hurriedly and swallows it all within incredible speed. They muffle their laughter when Jaemin turns back around and looks at them scrutinisingly. Mark pretends to chew a mouthful of bread.

“Minhyung!” Jeno quickly chirps before Jaemin can voice out his suspicion as he scans over their faces. Jeno dusts the crumbs of bread off his hands. “Want to come to Old Man Lee’s farm with me? It’ll be fun! It’s also really pretty. It’ll be a waste if you leave without seeing it.”

Mark makes a show of swallowing nothing and agrees amicably. He stands when Jeno cocks his head and starts moving towards the opened door.

“Can I play with Thunder while you’re gone?” Jisung manages out just before they leave.

Mark holds the doorframe and pops his head back in. “Just don’t ride him! You’ll hurt yourself!” He manages to hear Jisung’s clear reply before he’s off and out, walking on the dirt road alongside Jeno.

Old Man Lee’s farm is just the house down the field, a comfortable walking distance from Jeno’s. Jeno points it out to him, points out the rows of apple trees behind Old Man Lee’s house that they’ll be harvesting. It is a pretty sight, neat rows of trees that are satisfying to gaze upon with cute bright little red blobs hanging on branches. There are easily about less than twenty rows given the size of the farm but it’s still a lot of work for two people. It’s probably why Jeno pulled him to come with.

“Why the fancy getup?” Jeno asks, doing a once-over of Mark’s outfit. Mark’s in a flowy white linen shirt, cuffs circled around his wrists and a pair of dark trousers. It’s not the fanciest he’s dressed in but it is notably fancier than Jeno’s daily attire.

“I always dress like this,” Mark says truthfully, making it sound like a joke. He sends Jeno a subtle smile when he side-glances him. “You caught me on a bad day when we met.”

Jeno plays along, a smirk tugging on his lips. “I almost couldn’t recognise you without your bow and arrows. Thought they were stuck to your back.”

Mark abruptly lifts his shirt just enough to expose his waist, a flash of his inner wear but more specifically the dagger holder strapped to his belt. “I took a fancy to your fashion and decided to imitate the look.”

It’s a joke between them. Mark usually brings his bow and arrows whenever he steps outside the palace but he forewent it this time considering they might not be very patrol friendly. He’s trained to handle a variety of weapons and always has some sort of blade— sword or dagger— if he’s without his bow. He’s good with all sorts of arms but at the end of the day, he’s most comfortable with his bow and arrows because they’re the ones he started out with.

“You can copy my fashion but not my skills,” Jeno remarks, giving a cocky lift of his brows.

“You’d be surprised.”

Jeno laughs, eyes disappearing to welcome a smile. “Lucky for me, I love surprises.”

Mark’s never picked apples in his life and it’s more tiring than he thought it would be. The trees are only a few inches taller than him but a row extends for so long that it seems a daunting task. They set on picking three rows each for the day. Mark’s just started on his second row. Jeno’s tackling the row right behind him.

There’s sweat running along Jeno’s jaw, down the back of his neck and disappears into the collar of his shirt. His sleeves have also been rolled up to his elbows. Mark too has done the same because it’s almost midday and the sun is starting to shine furiously down at them. He doesn’t grumble about the heat because Jeno doesn’t and he doesn’t think grumbling will do anything to make their situation better, so he focuses on completing the job as quickly as he can.

Jeno had given him a quick lesson on how to pick apples— those that gave way with a simple twist are good to go, those that requires much tugging should be left alone. Mark’s filled up three full woven straw baskets, standing high to just below his hips. Old Man Lee will come by later and they’ll help him bring the baskets to his storage once they’re done.

Jeno turns his head back to Mark, his eyes squinting from the piercing brightness of the sun. “How long are you in town for? Jaemin mentioned you’re running errands for your dad.”

“I’ll leave when evening falls but I’ll be back in a few days. I’ll be in town one or two days a week now,” Mark replies, wiping the sweat collecting at his hairline. “I have errands to run here and there.”

“Everything fine back home with your dad, I take it?”

“More or less,” Mark says and stops to turn back and meet Jeno’s eyes. “And you and Jaemin?”

Jeno pushes his sleeves further up his elbow and wipes the sweat on his forehead against his sleeve bunched up at his bicep. He rests his hands on his waist. “We’re good. Well good enough. Jaemin didn’t exactly show his joy at my return but he didn’t shove a dagger at my neck so I guess he’s sorry about our argument.”

“Back to normal then,” Mark comments and Jeno grins.

Mark scoffs, turning back around and grabbing another bright red apple, ripe and firm to the touch. He twists the stem and it breaks off easily. He rolls it into the small sack by his feet which he’ll pour out into the straw baskets once the sacks are full.

“Jaemin’s warming up to you I think,” Jeno declares, back to picking the apples in front of him as he talks.

“Yeah?” Mark asks, another ripe apple in his hand. They’re back-to-back once more.

“Yeah, he thinks you convinced me to come back.”

Mark halts his movements. He continues again but his movements are slow. Quietly, he asks, “Was he wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno answers coyly. Mark can’t see Jeno’s face in their positions but the tone Jeno speaks with lets Mark imagine that Jeno’s lips have stretched into a grin. “I forgot,” then it’s followed by Jeno’s cheery laugh which Mark can’t help but smile at.

An hour more goes by and midday joins them. The sun is unbearably hot, shining directly over them. There aren’t any shadows to find comfort from and the trees don’t provide enough shade to shelter them from the merciless heat. They’ve been picking apples for over three hours, Mark thinks. They’ve a row left each but they’re taking a break given how terrible it is to be working in this weather. Their shirts are partially soaked through.

They’re lying down, backs flat against the grass and Mark can already imagine Doyoung’s horrified face when he enters lesson wearing a dirt-stained shirt and the smell of fresh grass. They’re too lazy to get back to Old Man Lee’s house for lunch even though he had invited them before they started in the morning. Fortunately they have some sandwiches and a large jug of apple juice shared between them, delivered moments earlier by Old Man Lee’s eldest daughter, too young to be working the farms.

Mark’s never felt such relief to be able to lie down. His head is right next to Jeno’s but their bodies face opposite directions, forming one long line starting with Mark’s legs and ending with Jeno’s. Mark’s eyes are closed, otherwise he’ll be tearing from the glare of the sun. His arms rest above his stomach and he’s pretty sure Jeno might be asleep given how he hasn’t spoken a word since they took their break.

Mark’s proven wrong when Jeno groans in frustration out of nowhere. He snorts because Jeno’s been quiet not because he was sleeping, but because doing anything in this heat, even talking, feels like torture.

“I swear it will only be minutes before I melt into a puddle and become mud that you’ll step in,” Jeno grumbles.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Thanks for dragging me out here, by the way,” Mark comments dryly.

“There was no way I was going to suffer on my own,” Jeno retorts gleefully.

“You’re only using me, aren’t you? First for gathering wood, now for harvesting. Next you’ll be selling my limbs.”

“Now you know why I carry a dagger around.”

“Very funny, Jeno.”

Jeno seems to think so because he laughs. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

The grass rustles and a shadow casts itself over Mark, darkening the colour he sees beneath his eyelids. Mark opens his eyes to find Jeno perched on an elbow looking down at him.

“What?” Mark asks, looking into Jeno’s eyes.

Jeno has a cocky look on his face. “You don’t believe me? I could trap you right here and cut your kidney out.”

Mark looks at him, unimpressed. “Jeno, I have a dagger too, stop talking stupid.”

Jeno climbs over him within an instant, his hands pinning Mark’s arms down to the grass, his knees clamping Mark’s thighs together so that Mark is completely locked in place.

“Jeno,” Mark warns but Jeno has that ridiculous smile on his face, one that gives away his mischief and that he’s very unlikely to listen to anything Mark says.

“Jeno I swear to god, get off me. It’s hot and I’m sweaty and sticky and you’re suddenly not looking very favourable in my eyes anymore.”

Jeno doesn’t relent, his holds Mark’s gaze steady. His voice is surprisingly less teasing than Mark had anticipated when he speaks again. Mark’s brows knit together at the subtle shift in tone. “I could have my dagger to your neck in a second. In fact, I could have done it all along. Why do you trust me?”

This isn’t the Jeno that Mark’s acquainted himself with despite the short amount of time they’ve spent together. He searches Jeno’s eyes thoroughly. He _knows_ Jeno isn’t being himself, or the version of himself that they’re both familiar with. Mark sees how the mischief simmers in his eyes, replaced by a sort of wariness and wildness swirling furtively together. But there’s something else sparkling lowly in the midst of it all. Something Mark recognises the more he stares.

Fear. Anxiety.

He understands now. Jeno isn’t sure about him and Jeno’s scared to trust him. But _he_ is sure about Jeno, he’s sure that Jeno wouldn’t do anything to harm him, even if he doesn’t know where the faith arises from.

“Trust goes both ways, Jeno,” he says calmly. He’s not afraid of how Jeno’s fingers hover by his own waist where he knows Jeno’s dagger is hidden. An instinctual act of defence; fight or flight— an innate rule broken boys follow like religion. Broken boys with daggers often choose the former. But Mark too is a boy with a blade and his words are as much weapon as his dagger. He knows how to fight with his words. “I trust you because you trusted me first.”

And that is the truth. Jeno offered him food, brought him home, gave him some warmth and comfort whether or not Jeno had meant it. Jeno saw a lost boy in the woods and treated him the way Mark knows himself would have liked to be treated if their positions had been switched.

“Why do you trust me?” Mark asks him back, gazing deeply into his eyes.

Jeno doesn’t say anything, he only stares silently at Mark and Mark makes it a point not to avert his eyes away. He wants Jeno to know that whatever Jeno chooses to do, he’ll stay right here. Because he trusts Jeno and he wants Jeno to know this. Jeno searches his eyes and he allows Jeno to find whatever he needs. It takes a few moments before Jeno eventually relaxes his gaze. He releases the grip he has on Mark’s forearms. His body slackens and he sits back on Mark’s knees.

“I guess I just knew I could. Trust you.” Jeno breathes. “I felt like I could trust you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Mark tells him honestly.

Jeno pretends to ponder, he tilts his head and Mark sees the beginning of a smile tugging on his lips. “Or maybe you just looked weak and I took pity.”

The ‘true’ Jeno comes back and Mark has to suppress his smile because it’ll make him look like he’s gone soft for Jeno and he knows Jeno would enjoy it to no end. He’ll never be able to hear the end of it.

“Well, now that’s that. Please get off me. The weather is hot enough as it is, you’re making this experience even more unbearable.”

And then the menace of a grin is back on Jeno’s face. Jeno flops himself forward over Mark, crushing Mark and making Mark groan out in protest. His weight is heavy and Mark’s chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. Mark can’t find the energy to push Jeno away, not with how Jeno latches stubbornly to him. Mark gives up and Jeno stays lying over him, his chin digging into Mark’s shoulder. His body is warm, intolerably warm and Mark can feel how sticky his own shirt is with Jeno pressed against him like this. He splays his arms on the grass, resignation sitting in his chest.

“Jeno,” he voices tiredly, “please get off me.”

“You’re asking very nicely,” Jeno notes considerately. Mark can’t see Jeno’s face in this position, all he gets is a face full of Jeno’s hair when he turns his head. He gets a whiff of Jeno’s scent— Jeno smells of sweat, grass, apples and summer. Jeno’s hair tickles his cheek and what he would give to roll Jeno away if only he has enough energy in his body to do so.

“Yes, because I have manners. So will you please detach yourself from me.”

“No, I fear I find you very soft and comfortable.”

“Fear this more, I am sweaty and suffocated, and increasingly annoyed.”

Jeno hums delightedly and very stubbornly doesn’t move away. Mark feels the rise and fall of Jeno’s chest against his, a steady rhythm he finds himself getting lost into. He takes getting Jeno to leave him alone a lost cause and exhaustedly leaves Jeno be. He closes his eyes. There’s something strangely peaceful about lying between rows of apple trees in a small little orchard when the sun is bright and the grass smells green and there’s not a single cloud above to protect you from the sweltering heat. And the way a broken boy seems content lying on top of you, and you trust him. And he trusts you.

Jeno wakes him up with a shake of his shoulder a while after, a hand offered to his face to help pull him up to his feet. The shadows are back once more now that the sun has changed its position in the sky. Jeno’s sneaky little grin returns as well and they set off finishing the rest of their work.

Mark reaches town back in time to observe the changing of shifts. Yukhei doesn’t ask him any questions about his whereabouts but Doyoung does when he arrives for lessons in the library looking very un-prince like. Doyoung questions if patrols are that rowdy as he eyes the stains on Mark’s shirt. Mark only shrugs vaguely in response.

Mark joins the patrols in the other towns over the next few days; some days he joins the morning patrols, others he joins the night ones. When he returns to patrol Jeno’s town again, he joins the morning shift and leaves way before dawn, earlier than the stipulated time the morning team should set off. He slips Yukhei a note and he knows Yukhei’s bound to be pissed but he’ll take his chances.

He rides Thunder to Jeno’s house, hoping to catch him before he goes into the woods to gather wood for the bakery. Jeno had mentioned the last time they met that Mark should come find him whenever Mark comes to town just so Jeno can take advantage of him again. Jeno had of course mentioned it jokingly, even offered food in return to tease Mark, but Mark promised he’d return anyway. Mark doesn’t mind helping Jeno out with his errands— he likes Jeno’s company and the fact that Jeno seems to appreciate his. Jeno likes to tell him things and he likes to listen to them.

When he arrives in front of Jeno’s house, he sees Jaemin just about to leave. The sky’s too dark and there isn’t any light source around them to give them proper visibility. Jaemin has to squint to take in his figure, giving him a brief nod when Jaemin makes it out to be him. Mark dismounts Thunder and waits by the gate. Jaemin shuts the front door quietly and walks out to meet him.

“On the day he gives up waiting is the day you decide to come by,” Jaemin says as a greeting.

The revelation comes unexpected. Mark hadn’t realised Jeno would be waiting for him faithfully the past few days. He hadn’t explicitly told Jeno when he would be back because he wasn’t sure himself. Now that he knows Jeno had been waiting for him, he can’t stop feeling sorry about disappointing Jeno with every passing day he didn’t appear. Admittedly, he’s a little touched that Jeno had been looking forward to meeting to him again. He too had wondered what Jeno was up to while in the middle of his lessons with Doyoung or patrolling others towns with Yukhei.

Mark scratches the back of his ear bashfully while feeling regretful at the same time. His ownself is entirely to blame. “I’ll apologise to him when he’s awake,” Mark promises before he cocks his head towards the path that leads to the woods. “You ready to go?”

Jaemin stays standing behind the wooden gate with his arms crossed, resting over the top ledge. He looks at Mark thoughtfully and then resolutely, he says, “I’ll get Jeno up for you.”

Mark widens his eyes. “What? What for?”

“Don’t you want to see him?”

Mark can feel his neck flushing and he’s glad that daybreak hasn’t arrived yet because he gets to use it to his advantage to hide his blush. He rushes to shake his head. “He must be sleeping. I can help you gather wood and see him later, it’s fine.”

Jaemin leans forwards on the ledge. There’s a knowing look on his face. “You would enjoy Jeno’s company more than mine, you’re only too nice to say it.”

Mark flushes more furiously. Sincerely he says, “Your silence and stiffness is as pleasant company as Jeno’s liveliness. I would appreciate both the same.”

He thinks he sounds a little stupid once the words tumble out of his mouth. He has never seen Jaemin laugh but the expression on Jaemin’s face might be the closest he can get to ever seeing it. It only flusters him further.

“I see flattery as a weapon, Minhyung. I need you to disarm yourself. Now stop being a gentleman and let me thank you for giving me a few more hours of sleep. I’ll send Jeno down in a bit.”

Mark doesn’t get to have another say because Jaemin turns back around and enters the house. Mark waits outside the gate and watches as a faint yellow glow lights up the room of the furthest right window on the second floor. That must be Jeno’s room.

Jeno comes out the front door a short while later, dressed plainly in a red tunic and a pair of dark trousers. He has a brown scarf tied around his neck. He looks nice, and the way he still has bed hair and can barely open his eyes makes him look even more charming. Jeno locks the door, turns his head back briefly while he does so to send Mark an apologetic smile for the wait. Mark’s lips give way to a smile with embarrassing ease. Jeno jogs up to the gate with a spring in his steps.

“Minhyung!”

Mark’s name tumbles out from Jeno’s lips with a laugh. His voice is scratchy from sleep but he looks so eager that it makes Mark look at him no other way than fondly. “Good morning, Jeno,” Mark wishes as Jeno opens the gate, steps out and closes it back behind him.

Jeno doesn’t stop smiling. “Morning, coward.”

Mark doesn’t stop smiling either. “You look fancy.”

Jeno looks down to observe his own outfit. “Thought it might impress you.”

Jeno looks up at him and laughs, like it’s meant to be a joke but Mark’s heart skips a beat at the thought of Jeno wanting to make a nice impression on him.

“And morning to you too, Thunder.” Jeno pets Thunder’s head gently, his laughter coming out raspy when Thunder nuzzles into his touch. He points his saw forward with enamouring vigour and a too familiar grin on his face. “Come on boys, the woods await!”

On their walk there, Mark apologises for making Jeno wait in uncertainty the past few days. Jeno tells him it’s no big deal, yet Mark watches captivatingly how the tip of Jeno’s ears blossom a pinkness that Jeno himself is unaware of, a pretty shade stark against the unlit sky. Jeno starts telling him about what everyone has been up to lately, and Mark shares his own un-royal stories as well. Too often he finds himself admiring the easy smile on Jeno’s face while Jeno talks. In the early hours of the day where everything else is still asleep, Mark thinks they feel like a secret to the rest of the world. Just them, walking on a worn path between wheat fields towards the woods under a dim sky, surrounded by silence as they wait for twilight to catch up. It feels like a secret because no one else is around to witness them but Mark has never liked secrets. He doesn’t like to think about them and the weight they carry. What Mark does like, though, is listening to Jeno talk so he submerges himself into the waves of Jeno’s voice instead. When Jeno laughs and smiles at him, he smiles wholeheartedly in return.

Secrets aren’t meant to be told after all. Secrets should remain secrets, especially for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know it’s hard but if you love him, don’t you think he deserves to know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the second chapter is abt 12k more than the first one and the longest out of all three chapters because apparently i have no control. idk how this chapter turned out but i hope not bad,, if you've been waiting for this chapter, id just like to thank you! 
> 
> it gets pretty heavy in this chapter. there are vivid mentions of blood, injury and violence so please be wary.

Yukhei is very, very pissed. 

Mark can tell from how Yukhei has not relented from manoeuvring his way around Mark’s shield to stab him with his sword. His very _real_ sword, with the very _real,_ shiny, steel blade. Mark fears his wooden shield can only do so much to protect him. He should have taken the steel one if he knew Yukhei was going to be this hard on him.

In front of the palace stable stands a jousting arena, an empty area of earth and mud outlined by elevated stands, often used to host duelling events. This was where Mark learned how to ride Thunder, going round in circles and falling off Thunder more times than he stayed on. It is also where he trains with the weapons in the royal armoury located conveniently next to the stable. He practices archery here too sometimes, but mostly he shoots at the field below the hills outside the palace. Either that, or the woods.

So most of the time when he’s here, he spars with Yukhei, and at the moment it seems that Yukhei does not want him alive. At all.

He blocks another swift attack of Yukhei’s blade and uses his body’s momentum to push Yukhei back. He swings forward, aims the side of Yukhei’s torso which Yukhei avoids with practiced agility. He throws another stab forward, their swords clashing loudly, their ragged breathing just as loud. Yukhei lunges forward at him without warning, determination blazing in his eyes and Mark has to dig his heels into the earth to prevent himself from toppling back.

“I said I’m sorry!” Mark grits out as Yukhei slices the side of his protective guard. Mark chances a quick glance at it. He’s worn through two of his armour, he had promised to take care of this one. 

“If you’re sorry, come kiss my ass!” Yukhei yells, dodging Mark’s counter attack. Yukhei remains unscathed, a testament of his skills. It should be relieving how well-trained Yukhei is but it’s more frustrating than anything at the moment.

“Is that how you talk to your prince?” Mark lashes. 

“My apologies,” Yukhei grunts, forcing Mark back with his shield against Mark’s sword. He eyes Mark fiercely the entire time. “If you’re sorry, _Prince Mark,_ come kiss my ass.”

Mark breathes heavily, shoves Yukhei back with all the force in his body before he takes a prudent step back. He feels sweat trickling down the creases on his forehead. Yukhei looks just as exhausted.

“Who is he?” Yukhei demands, watching Mark’s face as he circles him. “Tell me who he is.”

They’ve patrolled Jeno’s town a handful of times ever since the patrols started and every time they’re stationed there, Mark disappears only to join back for the changing of shifts. A few times Yukhei’s caught him walking with Jeno in town, mostly when they’re leaving the bakery together or when Mark walks Jeno to the carpenter’s before he has to return to the palace himself. Yukhei pretends to ignore them whenever he sees them but when Jeno’s out of sight, Yukhei always fixes Mark with a look, like he’s disapproving of Mark's choices and disappointed that Mark is keeping things from him.

“He’s just a _friend_ ,” Mark emphasises. 

Yukhei tightens his grip on his sword. “‘ _Just a friend_ ’ can be dangerous.”

“He’s not.”

Yukhei takes a bold step closer and Mark does the same, not backing down in the slightest. They’re only a few feet apart from each other and Yukhei still looks angry from the way Yukhei glares at him. He waits for Yukhei to attack, careful as he treads around Yukhei. 

“You can’t always be sure. I can’t just let you run off every single time,” Yukhei vents. “Do you know how stressful it is for me? You’re the prince! I’ll lose my head if anything happens to you.”

Yukhei draws back his sword in a sudden burst of movement and aims for a stab which Mark blocks in time with his own. Yukhei doesn’t pause as he swings for another and another and Mark struggles to keep up. 

Mark falls weaker with each swing. “He won’t hurt me,” Mark growls through laboured breath, trying his hardest to evade Yukhei’s blade. “I trust him.”

Yukhei charges forward and Mark defends himself ferociously, sword against sword, their chests heaving as they execute attack after attack. Yukhei’s taller and sturdier and he uses it well to his advantage but Mark doesn’t let Yukhei’s stature give him superiority. Mark holds himself valiantly and fights back every hit Yukhei throws at him. Yukhei’s sword presses against his between their chests and everything around them gets muffled by the sound of their mixed breathing. 

“He carries a dagger,” Yukhei speaks harshly, staring him down. “You think I don’t see it? I can’t let him be around you for your own safety.”

“He carries it for defence! Like I do!” Mark counters, meeting Yukhei’s eyes fearlessly as he jerks forward against him. He clenches his jaw. “Lay off him.”

Yukhei holds his stance firm, immovable despite Mark’s attempts. He fixes Mark with a pained gaze. “Your Highness.”

“Let me have one friend, Yukhei, please.”

Yukhei’s stance and stare falter and Mark uses that moment to swiftly slide his sword down to the hilt of Yukhei’s, forcing Yukhei to release it instinctively before Mark can consider slashing his palm open. Yukhei’s sword clatters loudly to the ground but Yukhei’s eyes stay on Mark, taking in and keeping secret the vulnerability that Mark had exposed only for him to see. 

Mark meets Yukhei’s eyes for one beat more before he throws his shield and sword aside. He exhales tiredly and drops himself to the ground, sitting sagged with his arms resting over his knees as he catches his breath. 

Yukhei follows his lead, his sword and shield abandoned as he sits a mere few feet away from Mark. Yukhei watches him still— _studies_ him— and Mark doesn’t try to hide anything. He stares back at Yukhei, lets Yukhei read into his eyes before he declares himself vulnerable enough and sighs, bringing his eyes away to stare at the dirt instead. 

“You know I’m always on your side,” Yukhei speaks steadily, a subtle tenderness to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“I know.”

“So you understand I have to do whatever it takes to protect you.”

“I know, Yukhei.”

Yukhei stretches out a leg to nudge Mark’s. Mark reluctantly meets Yukhei’s eyes. 

“He doesn’t know it’s you?” _That you’re the prince? That you’re actually sneaking off to meet him?_

Mark shakes his head. “He thinks I run errands for my _dad_ in different towns.” He raises his brows at the word ‘dad’ to emphasise the absurdity of the situation he’s in.

Yukhei winces at how casually Mark speaks of the king. “Well,” Yukhei drawls. “Not a complete lie.”

Mark scoffs. “Yeah, only that he doesn’t know my _dad_ is his Majesty, the king.” 

“Okay, so not the best secret to have.”

Mark lets out a short, empty laugh and hangs his head low. “He’s very sweet Yukhei. I try not to lie to him more than I already do.” He exhales, moving one of his boots to rub into the dirt mindlessly. “It’s been a long while since I made a friend.”

Yukhei groans loudly and lies back on the dirt, getting mud all over his armour. He throws his arm over his face. “You can’t use that card on me. That is absolutely unfair.”

“I’m not using any card on you,” Mark laughs, turning his head to watch Yukhei. “It’s the truth. Being with him makes me forget my relation to the throne and I like that I can just be myself around him.”

Yukhei sighs. “Your Highness, if word gets to his Majesty that you’ve been running off during—” 

“You won’t tell him, will you?” Mark interrupts, urgent eyes scanning Yukhei’s face. Yukhei raises his head slightly to look at him and he looks apologetic.

“I won’t,” Yukhei assures, “but it is not within my control whether or not word will reach his Majesty. If the other knights catch you, I’m afraid I can’t do much to help.”

“I’ll be careful,” Mark promises. He exhales heavily. “The king will think I’m just playing around if he hears. I’ve already disappointed him enough.”

“Prince Mark—”

“It’s none of your business, I know. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Yukhei hesitates, choosing his words with care before he speaks. When he does, what he says is, “You’re a prince.”

Mark laughs, hollow and bleak. “Believe me, Yukhei, I am quite aware.”

“No, you _are_ a prince.” Yukhei sits up again to be taken seriously. “Because you act like one. You carry out your duties faithfully, you put your people before you. A lot of the lords here could do with having some empathy like you. You care as a prince, and that makes me proud to be your guard. And that’s why I trust you whenever you run off without me. Because I know you wouldn’t do anything unkind to his Majesty’s name, to me or to yourself. And especially not to the boy you run away to.”

Yukhei’s words carry a heavy weight that claws its roots into Mark’s chest. It rips him apart piece by piece and forces him to judge himself. He’s not able to see himself the way Yukhei sees him. In fact, he thinks Yukhei’s loyalty to him has flawed Yukhei’s judgement of him, and it will all come crashing down onto Yukhei one day that he is not the prince Yukhei thinks he is. He’s not the prince that everyone wants him to be. He isn’t able to live up to that.

“Jeno,” he says instead of everything else on his mind. He lets Yukhei’s words breeze and whirl in his head, lets them dig a hole and settle until night falls when they’ll come out to taunt him again. He licks his lips and presses them tersely together. “His name is Jeno.”

Yukhei smiles, gentle. “Your friend, Jeno.”

Mark likes that. He tries tasting it on his tongue. “My friend, Jeno.” 

“But your _best_ friend Yukhei, right?”

“My best friend Yukhei, the only one who sees me as a prince,” Mark laughs. 

“The only person who doesn’t see you as a prince is yourself.” Yukhei throws a weak punch to his shoulder. “Don’t become your own enemy.”

Mark’s heart sits heavy inside but he offers Yukhei a smile in case Yukhei worries. He pushes himself off the ground, snatching his shield and sword with him.

Yukhei looks at him as he goes. “Your best friend cares about you. Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mark assures. “I gotta go. I have to meet the king. I’ll see you after.” 

Yukhei waves him off as he jogs his way to the armoury to return his sword.

He washes up and dresses himself neatly before he finds himself in the king’s study, just him and his father. His father looks tired— his shoulders are worn down and his eyes look a blink away from sleep. His heart feels wrung taut at the sight but he doesn’t comment on it because it’s not like his father to take a break even if he persuades him to. That’s just what it is to be king. He admires his father’s tenacity and persistence and is once again reminded of how inexperienced he is. He stands before his father’s desk and reports the findings from the patrols.

“There’s still no basis to the rumours. We’ve searched through the towns and the woods, there aren’t any signs of a possible gathering of the fighters so far.”

“Do you scour even the thick of the woods throughout the night?”

Mark nods. “The night patrol teams have been searching through the woods near all the towns till daylight. We found nothing suspicious but it could be that the fighters are being extremely careful. The rumours of their presence are still circulating around, gaining even more attention amongst the townspeople especially with the appearance of our knights.”

Mark’s father leans back against his chair and takes time to ponder. His gaze wanders aimlessly before his eyes tune swiftly back to Mark, sharp and inquisitive. “Do you believe the rumours to be true?”

Mark answers him honestly. “They’re likely to be true. Not everyone is very welcoming to the presence of the patrol teams in towns. There are furtive glances and harsh whispers going around. There is clear displeasure towards the palace although it exists in minority.”

The king’s brows knit together. “It’s important that the fighters don’t win over the people.”

Mark understands his father’s motives. If the fighters manage to sway the civilians’ trust away from the palace and towards their cause, the fighters will grow stronger and it would bring distress to the kingdom. That’s not what they want.

“I think it would be best if we sent knights in plain clothing to disguise themselves amongst the civilians. Especially for night patrols. It may help with the search better if the fighters don’t know who to avoid.”

“I suggest you set out with a few knights, otherwise the sudden absence of men in armour would raise suspicion as well. The fighters are smart, we have to act carefully.”

“Then we’ll be sure to be smarter than them.” 

His father watches him, his gaze lingering. He eventually nods his head curtly, his hands clasped together beneath his chin. “If you think it’ll work, you may proceed and brief your men.”

Mark bows his head. “Thank you.”

Just as Mark turns to leave, his father calls out to him. He turns back around.

His father studies his face before he speaks. “Let’s have lunch together one of these days. You’ve been running around between patrols and lessons, I hardly get to see you.”

Mark stiffens in surprise but tries not to let it show. He nods his head briefly, shaping his tone to come out steady when he replies. “Sure.”

His father clears his throat. “We can have it in the gardens, would you like that?” _Like we used to, when your mother was still around._

Mark’s heart feels anchored down by a heavy weight. He swallows thickly. “That would be very nice.”

—

Mark’s had lessons the whole day but he still has to go on patrol after, even if the patrol team had already left the palace. He had grabbed a piece of bread and some meat slices for dinner, took a quick bath and when he steps out of the bath with a towel around his waist, he sees Doyoung sitting on the lounge chair by his window.

He eyes Doyoung curiously as he crosses over to his dressing screen a few feet away where his clothes have been hung for him. He disappears behind it, making his voice clear enough for Doyoung to hear him when he speaks. “You can’t give me work when it’s after lessons.”

“I’m not here for that.”

He bounces on his foot as he pulls up his trousers. “Then what is it?”

“I just wanted to see you off.”

Mark knits his brows together at the answer. He pops his head from the corner of the screen to peer over at Doyoung suspiciously. “You’re here to nag me about something I did wrong that I have yet to realise.”

“No,” Doyoung remarks, offended. He presses his lips. “I really am here to see you off.”

Mark looks at Doyoung scrutinisingly before going back behind the screen. He grabs his tunic hanging over it. A shirt with an elegant pleated front has been prepared for him and he internally reminds himself to mention to the servants to prepare something more casual for his patrols. He contemplates the fancy vest but puts it on anyways. 

He reappears from the dressing screen and stalks towards Doyoung, leaning against his bedpost with his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Why so suddenly?” he eyes Doyoung suspiciously as he sweeps one hand through his hair in an attempt to comb it down.

Doyoung studies him with a half frown. “You’ve been running around so much these past weeks. Going between lessons, training, patrols— it’s like you’re hardly breathing. I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“You see me during your lessons,” Mark reasons, looking at Doyoung weirdly. It’s not like Mark’s suddenly out of Doyoung’s sight now that he’s leading the patrols. In fact with the additional lessons he’s having, he sees Doyoung more than he did before.

“You doze off in my lessons,” Doyoung reminds him, fixing him with a look. “And the servants tell me you barely eat anything for your meals. Which includes the dinner you had earlier.”

Mark scoffs loudly to show that Doyoung is worrying unnecessarily. “It was a large piece of bread! With slices of meat!”

Doyoung is hardly impressed going by the hard lines on his face. “Your Highness.”

“Ask the servants!”

“You shouldn’t overwork yourself,” Doyoung says tersely.

Mark sighs. Doyoung reaches out to hold his forearm, his eyes swimming with worry. His grip is firm in a way that conveys reassurance and seeks it in return.

“I’m not, and I _won’t_ ,” Mark says, his hand clasping over Doyoung’s own over his arm. He gives Doyoung a grateful smile, touched by Doyoung’s care. “Thank you for coming and checking on me. But I really am fine. Breathing really well, see?”

Doyoung isn’t easily convinced. “Ensure that Yukhei is with you wherever you go. You must always be careful.”

“I always am careful,” Mark tells him. He gives Doyoung a grin. “Besides. I end up protecting Yukhei half of the time, don’t you know?”

Doyoung gives him a reprimanding look. “I mean it. The fighters hate royalty, they will not hesitate to harm you.”

“Well, they have to show themselves first to do that,” Mark says as he pats Doyoung’s hand twice before he lets go. He has to ready himself for the patrols. “I’m not afraid of them and I’m not afraid of getting hurt either.”

Doyoung only sighs. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I _promise_ ,” Mark says exaggeratedly. He straightens his vest and stands tall, flicking his eyes from his shirt to Doyoung’s face. “How do I look?”

Doyoung judges him. “Very neat, presentable.”

Mark unbuttons his vest and takes it off. “How do I look now?”

Doyoung frowns. “Less proper.”

“Great!” He throws the vest onto his bed which Doyoung watches in mild mortification. He doesn’t give Doyoung an explanation, giving instead a half-hearted apology claiming he has to rush for his patrol. He manages to wish Doyoung a good night before he’s dashing out the door. 

Mark meets Yukhei in town, gets updates about the patrols before he tells Yukhei he’s going to find Jeno, which Yukhei tells him to have fun and be cautious at the same time. Mark buys peaches and berries and picks up wild flowers from the fields near Jeno’s house to form a small bouquet. As Mark rides nearer to the house, he sees Jisung and his grandmother working their small vegetable garden. Jisung looks up at the sound of Thunder’s trotting and abandons his gardening tools to come running out the gate towards them.

“Thunder!”

“And me?” Mark laughs, dismounting Thunder and handing the reins to Jisung’s eager hands.

Jisung scrunches his face but a secret smile comes after as he rubs Thunder’s shoulder. “I guess it’s good to see you too.”

Mark laughs. “I brought you guys some fruits. I’ll just bring them into the house if you don’t mind. Bring him to the stable for me, would you?” 

Jisung nods, wordlessly granting him permission to enter before he tugs on Thunder’s reins to bring him to the stable.

Mark greets Jisung’s grandmother warmly when he sees her. She left tending the garden to meet him in front of the house. She gives him a welcoming smile in return. He bashfully holds out the bouquet of flowers he had roughly put together on the way here. He would have been shy about it if not for the way her face lights up. 

“I picked them for you. I saw you had fresh flowers in the kitchen the other day. I thought you might like them.”

Jisung’s grandmother accepts them adoringly. She’s a sweet, beautifully aged lady with a small stature but ever so strong-willed and full of love. She raised four boys by herself and still works around the house, even helping the neighbours whenever she can. Mark thinks she’s admirable and he hadn’t been hesitant to tell her that a few days back when he had followed Jeno back home after helping him with his errands. She’s taken to Mark like her own grandson now.

Her eyes twinkle. “I haven’t received flowers from a young man in so long.”

“It is my pleasure,” Mark smiles. “I have some fruits with me too.” Mark lifts the wrapped cloth of fruits in his arms. “I’ll help you put them in the kitchen.” She makes a fuss of welcoming him in as he accompanies her into the house.

While she busies herself with putting the flowers in a vase and placing it in the middle of the dining table, Mark washes the fruits and puts them in a bowl. He offers her to try some after she takes a seat. Mark expresses his relief when she delightedly says they’re sweet. He asks her how she’s been and wonders if Jeno and Jaemin will be back soon. She tells him that the boys usually come home before it gets dark. Jeno should have left the carpenter’s by now and Jaemin should be on his way home too.

She offers Mark some of the fruits, which Mark politely declines, reasoning that he bought them for her. He converses with her easily and she treats him warmly like she’s been raising him all this while. She chides Mark about his meals when she learns he doesn’t keep to proper meal times and nags at him to have enough sleep when he lets slip that he dozes off during his lessons. She fusses over him like a mother would and Mark secretly enjoys her scoldings, eventually promising that he’ll take better care of himself. 

She tells Mark stories of Jaemin, Jeno and Jisung when they were kids almost every time he comes and chats with her. Mark never gets tired of listening to them. He gets to learn bits of Jaehyun from her stories and also finds out that Jeno and Jaemin were like a pair of mischievous twins. Jisung’s stories are the cutest, and Mark can tell that she cares dearly for him. She tells him that Jisung has always been the more soft-hearted one among her grandsons. 

“Jisung’s been really happy ever since you came along with Thunder. He adored Chase, he always puts fresh hay in the stable hoping that one day Jaehyun would ride him home.”

Mark’s stomach churns. Jisung must miss them a lot. 

She reaches over the table to envelop Mark’s hand with hers. “I just want to thank you for all the help you’ve been giving them. The house hasn’t been the same since Jaehyun left but it’s slowly becoming warm again.”

A weight settles in his chest. He wasn’t expecting such sincere words nor had he been hoping for them. He’s been helping Jeno simply because he wants to, because Jeno is his friend. The house must have been glaringly quiet after Jaehyun left. He knows Jaehyun’s departure still leaves a sting in their hearts but he’s glad he’s able to make their days better. He’s grateful that his presence is as appreciated as he finds theirs. He tells her he’s happy to help them whenever he can.

Talking about Jisung duly makes him wonder why Jisung hasn’t come in yet. “I wonder what’s taking Jisung so long,” Mark murmurs, peering out the kitchen window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jisung at the stable.

Jisung’s grandmother chuckles. “He’s probably too distracted playing with Thunder to come in now. Here, take some berries for him to feed Thunder with. I’m sure he would like that.”

“If you don’t mind,” Mark says, not wanting to be rude for leaving her alone in the house. She shakes her head, says she’s completely fine. She puts a mixture of berries into Mark’s cupped palms and tells him to have fun with Jisung but reminds them to come back in before it gets too dark.

The sun outside has slowly started to take it’s rest, painting the sky a sombre ensemble of red, blue and grey. It looks like it’s going to rain. Mark waves a hand and yells out to Jisung when he gets close enough to the stable which Thunder apparently isn’t in yet. Instead, Jisung has put hay out on the grass and is letting Thunder feed outside the stable.

The breeze blows Jisung’s hair into his face when he looks back and he sweeps it away to briefly look at Mark before he goes back to watching Thunder eat. The wind whistles around them, picking up Jisung’s greeting in response to Mark’s and delivering it to Mark’s ears. Their tunics flap about their torsos loudly but Mark finds the wind more refreshing than it is a nuisance. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Jisung says when Mark gets near enough for him not to shout above the wind. “I thought Thunder would be less suffocated out here closer to the field than inside the stable.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Here,” Mark says holding the berries out in his palm for Jisung to take. “Your grandmother thought you would like to feed Thunder some berries. It’ll be his little treat. You’ll definitely be in his good books now.”

Jisung puts his palm out for Mark to drop the berries into and he holds them towards Thunder for Thunder to eat from. His eyes shine brightly when Thunder nudges his palm gently before feeding on the berries. 

Mark smiles as he watches how enraptured Jisung is. In a spur, he says, “Jisung. Do you want to learn how to ride?” 

Jisung looks at him with wide eyes. 

He smiles. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

He likes that Jisung doesn’t suppress the smile making its way onto his face. Jisung’s expressing himself a lot more lately and it’s very warming to see.

“It’s Ji, by the way.” Jisung says as he keeps his eyes on Thunder. Mark almost misses it if not for the wind ebbing before picking up again. 

“What?” He asks, just to be sure. 

“You can call me Ji. Everyone does.”

Mark takes a second to digest Jisung’s words. Slowly, he asks, “Would you like me to call you Ji?”

Jisung shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly, still doesn't meet his eyes. “If you want,” he mutters.

Mark hides his smile. “Okay, Ji. Come on, I’ll show you how to ride.”

Mark helps Jisung mount Thunder, holds his hand till he steadies himself. Once Jisung assures him that he feels secure enough, Mark tells Jisung the correct posture, adjusting his back and his thighs for him. He instructs Jisung to bend his torso slightly forward. When Jisung’s confident enough for Mark to leave his side, Mark stands in front on Thunder and tugs the reins to start Thunder moving.

Thunder starts with a jolt that surprises Jisung but Jisung catches himself and Mark tells him to relax, but not to be too relaxed. The scrunch of Jisung’s face from confusion is adorable. 

The plain fields surrounding the house are perfect for learning to ride, it’s as if they had been put here by the house for this specific moment just for Jisung. The calm colours of the sky, the way everything here spreads out wide, how the grass sighs contentedly in the wind— it makes the ambience relaxing and serene. It’s like nature has taken to Jisung fondly and is trying to make him feel at ease. 

“How were lessons today?” Mark asks as Thunder trots slowly along.

“Dry,” JIsung mumbles out. 

“You don’t like it?” 

“It’s tolerable,” Jisung shrugs. “I’d rather help my brother but Jaemin always tells me to study and doesn’t let me help him or Jeno with anything. I want to though. I want to do my part.”

“You studying and getting an education _is_ doing your part.”

“Jaehyun went to church too,” Jisung remarks coldly, his eyebrows knitted together where he pays attention to his fingers clutching Thunder’s mane. “I don’t see how helpful his education is to us.”

Jisung’s jaw is set tight. Mark’s chest pangs. “That’s different. Jaehyun left—”

“That’s right, he left,” Jisung cuts sharply, blinking down at his hands. “But I’m staying and I’m helping out no matter what. I want to go into the woods too and do whatever it is they’re doing. I can’t just sit around and read books while they break their backs to make ends meet. What kind of brother would that make me?”

Mark watches Jisung quietly. He understands where Jisung is coming from and how frustrated he feels— wanting to contribute, wanting to prove himself worthy. He knows the feeling.

“Ji,” he says gently and Jisung’s eyes flicker to him momentarily before it goes back to Thunder’s neck. Mark takes a few steps nearer and puts his palm on Thunder’s shoulder to stop Thunder walking.

He looks up at Jisung calmly. “You can make all the difference with an education, I’m sure you know that.”

“I can still make a difference without it,” Jisung says adamantly. “They won’t let me do any of the jobs other than helping out at Old Man Lee’s farm. It’s like they don’t trust me, like— like I’m just a burden they have to take care of.”

Jisung ducks his head down, pointedly not meeting Mark’s eyes. Mark’s heart sits heavy and he wishes Jisung would stop averting his gaze because he wants Jisung to look at him. He wants Jisung to understand that he means it sincerely when he says, “They don’t think that way.”

Jisung shakes his head. “I know why Jaehyun left, Jaemin wouldn’t tell me because he says he doesn’t know. But he knows, I know he does, and I know it too. Jaehyun doesn’t like this life,” Jisung says clearly, his face hardened and blank of emotion. Mark can just tell he’s spent sleepless nights ruminating about it over and over and that it used to hurt him before, but he’s swallowed it like bitter medicine now. “I kept waiting for him to come back. I still do. I put fresh hay in case he comes home with Chase, and I ask for everyone to leave the door open so Jaehyun knows he’s always welcomed back. I don’t hate him for leaving. I understand the life we have has many burdens. And I’m one of them. The biggest of them all probably. I’m the youngest, the weakest, the neediest.” Jisung shrugs sadly. “They wouldn’t let me handle a dagger or even a saw to collect wood for the fireplace.”

Mark’s chest squeezes. “Ji, you’re not a burden.”

Jisung finally meets his eyes but his gaze is intense. “You don’t get to say that.”

“You’re not,” Mark reiterates clearly even if he knows Jisung is right, he doesn’t have the right to say that. He’s not family, nor has he been watching them grow up. Above all that, he’s the prince. He’s never had it tough in life, never had to work to ensure there’s food on the table the next day or a shelter over his head. Their lives are worlds apart. But Jisung has the right to know the truth and Mark knows in a heartbeat that Jaemin and Jeno wouldn’t even consider him a mere heavyweight on their backs. 

“You’re not and I know this because Jaemin wants you to have the nicest things. It’s why he doesn’t want you to do what they’re doing. They know you can bring them out of this life by getting a much better, stable and decent job. Better than running errands, better than Jeno’s one at the carpenter’s. One that promises you a wage at the end of every month. Jaemin wants you to have that, for you to lead yourselves out of this life into a better one. You’re _not_ a burden, Ji.” 

Jisung is quiet. He looks up ahead, his eyebrows squeezed together, creases lining his forehead. He watches the horizon silently where the sky kisses the fields and the sun decides to hide, growing smaller until the moon eventually takes over. The wind hustles around them, tussling their hair and filling in the spaces between them. 

Mark takes Jisung’s heavy silence as encouragement. He speaks gently. “Don’t you see? You’re far from being a burden, Ji. You’re the hope that Jaemin has.”

Jisung swallows thickly, his fingers curled into his own palms, Thunder’s mane threaded between his fingers. He stays silent and Mark lets him, stroking Thunder’s shoulder gently, respecting that Jisung needs a few moments to himself.

And then Jisung relaxes, smooths down Thunder’s mane but he still has that depth in his eyes, his thoughts, uncertainty and desires hidden well behind his gaze. 

“I want to try riding him on my own,” Jisung announces, pushing away everything else unspoken between them. Mark nods and allows him to, telling him to click his tongue behind his teeth twice while softly petting the side of Thunder’s neck to instruct Thunder to stroll. Mark holds on to the reins just to be sure Thunder doesn’t start running off. Jisung does as Mark tells him and when Thunder starts strolling along the field lazily at his command, Jisung’s lips curl into a smile, a much warmer expression that suits his boyish face. 

“Thank you,” Jisung says a while later, long after Mark felt comfortable enough to hand the reins to Jisung and was sure Thunder would obey Jisung’s commands. Mark walks alongside Thunder a safe distance away and he brings his gaze to Jisung at Jisung’s spoken appreciation. Jisung gives him a tight-lipped smile, albeit a sincere one, and Mark knows his thanks is for more than just letting him ride Thunder. Mark’s learnt how to be good with words while Jisung learns how to talk with few but Mark understands him completely.

“You’re welcome,” Mark says simply in return, positive that Jisung understands him just as well. The sun is setting now and the sky is in the limbo between golden streaks of twilight and darkening shades of blue. Jeno and Jaemin should be back any time now.

“Hey coward!”

Speaking of the devil. Mark whips his head back, sees Jeno and Jaemin standing on the road in front of the house. Jeno is jumping and waving his hands wildly in the air. Jaemin’s beside him with his arms on his waist, his eyes squinting at Jisung on the horse. Mark gives a wave in return.

“I hope none of Ji’s bones are broken! Or else I’ll break your face!” Jaemin yells, then raises an arm in the air and motions it towards the house. “Come back in, it’s getting dark!”

Mark yells that he and Jisung will make their way in soon. Jeno’s still jumping and pointing proudly at Jisung and Jaemin has to drag him by the ear back to the house. Mark brings Thunder near the stable and helps Jisung dismount. They leave enough hay and water for Thunder before they retreat back indoors. 

Mark spends a while inside with them, enjoying the chatters they exchange over Jeno’s and Jaemin’s late dinner. Jaemin’s and Jisung’s grandmother has already retreated to her bedroom for rest and Jaemin has to constantly remind them to keep their laughter down. When night has fully settled and Mark knows he shouldn’t over-welcome his stay any longer, Mark excuses himself and wishes them all a good night. 

The moon is bright out and the air is peaceful, with the occasional call of cicadas and crickets from among the grasses. Jeno walks Mark to the gate to send him off and Mark might be imagining things but both their footsteps feel heavy. Jeno abruptly stops short of opening the gate and Mark watches him wordlessly. Jeno’s hand rests over the top ledge, paused in weighted thought, and he can’t seem to be able to push it open. Mark’s not exceptionally confused by his sudden manner because he thinks he understands how Jeno feels. It’s an underwhelming goodbye, he feels it as much as Jeno does. 

If Mark were to be completely honest, Mark doesn’t want the night to end just yet. The time they spent at dinner had been lovely but it wasn’t enough for Mark’s own desires. He had enjoyed all of Jaemin’s and Jisung’s company but Jeno... he can’t seem to stop longing to spend time with him. He wants to listen to Jeno talk, wants to watch Jeno’s animated expressions as Jeno listens to him talk. And right now with Jeno hesitating to send him home, he knows the sentiment is shared. Jeno wants to be with him just as much. His heart beats in anticipation at what this could mean and what Jeno’s hesitance could possibly lead to.

“Jeno?” he voices quietly, his nerves singing louder and louder under his skin.

Jeno shakes his head, retrieves himself from whatever reverie he’d gotten lost in. “Sorry I—” he falters, raising his eyes from his hand on the gate to look at Mark’s face. He laughs, rather dazedly, and while it is charming, it also comes across confusingly. Yet it still manages to strangely set Mark’s heart soaring with hope. 

“Sorry,” Jeno tries again breathlessly, a giddy smile on his face. He bites the inside of his cheeks. “I was just wondering if you would want to watch the moon with me? In the woods? It’s beautiful out tonight and I know the perfect spot to adore it.”

There’s so many reasons for Mark to say no. It’s dangerous— not that they’re unfamiliar with the woods at night. It’s scary, the mysteries that the woods hold— not like that would deter them away. It’ll worry Jaemin— the only valid reason they should consider. As if reading his mind, Jeno says, “Jaemin wouldn’t mind. I’ll tell him before we go.” Jeno looks at him expectantly, excitement mixed with nervous tension. He bites his lips but it doesn’t stop his hopeful smile. His eyes shine bright. “If you would want to go with me?”

If Mark would want to go with him. Of course Mark wants to go with him. He wants it so much that his heart aches at the mere thought of them two spending a quiet night under the moon together. 

But It’ll be risky and problematic, going into the woods at this hour. There’ll be knights patrolling the woods and they might even get caught. But if, _if,_ they can avoid them... it would be such a fulfilling night. 

Mark knows he shouldn’t use the knowledge of the patrols for his own desires, but the fact is he knows which areas are being patrolled and it’s the only way he can direct Jeno and him away from them. If they’re careful enough, if they want it enough, they can steal a few quiet moments to themselves. 

Mark’s nerves buzz. “Right now?” He asks, swallowing nervously. Jeno nods eagerly and the smile on his face evokes warmth through Mark like the rays of the morning sun. It heats Mark’s cheeks and makes his heart hum excitedly in his chest. Mark laughs breathlessly. It’s absolutely absurd that they’re really going to run off into the woods out of nowhere but Mark can’t bring himself to despise the idea. 

Jeno is thrumming with so much excitement that he does a little bounce on his feet. “I’ll pop back in to grab a lamp and tell Jaemin, then we can make our way to the woods. It’ll be our second getaway!”

A second getaway. A smile tugs on Mark’s lips. He likes the sound of it. 

Jeno grins toothily. “I’ll be out in a second!”

Jeno rushes back in and true to his words, he comes out a short while later in a jog with a lamp hanging in his hand. Jeno’s laughing, likely because he ran out while Jaemin was nagging at him and grabs Mark’s forearm to yank him into a run. This is how Mark finds himself running along with Jeno towards the woods, under the endeared silver gaze of the moon and drowning the cicada’s singing with their own laughters. Mark feels it with his whole chest, how serene everything feels, an overwhelming burst of emotions consuming him in the best possible way. Jeno’s hand doesn’t let him go and he only grabs it tighter. 

Jeno tries to guide them through the woods and Mark lets him, interfering only when he knows they’re close to where the knights are supposed to be. They end up not too deep inside, at a tranquil clearing hidden deceitfully by a circumference of soaring trees, their branches and leaves casting elongated shadows on the forest floor. Their canopy forms what feels like an incomplete dome and the moon lies above them in the centre of the almost-dome, stunning and kind.

Jeno tells him the clearing resulted from a fire a few years back and nothing seemed to grow here ever since. He said the villagers believe it to be cursed and have fearfully left the clearing as it is. It didn’t scare Jeno away, unsurprisingly, but what it did do was present itself as a secret little place in the woods for Jeno to have to himself. If Mark considers the creek his haven, Jeno considers this his.

Jeno brings them inside the circumference, leading them to a stray log resting on the ground. He kicks it lightly to confirm its sturdiness before he deems it safe enough. He gestures Mark to sit on it before he does and sets the lamp down to glow mutely between their feet. 

They get a full view of the clearing in front of them, the moon bathing the dirt in its sterling light. Mark studies around them quietly. It’s not an exceptional scene— just infertile earth and looming trees, the occasional swooping of bats and hooting of owls. Yet Mark finds himself drawn to this abandoned space more than he thought he would be. It’s beautiful, the more he takes everything in. It’s quiet and serene despite being unable to bear any life, and a misty haze swirls around the space, gentle and comforting, like it’s trying to soothe the hurt the place has endured.

Mark takes in a breath. “Everything is so calm here.”

Jeno hums, looking wistfully above at the moon. “It is, isn’t it? I think it’s because it’s been undisturbed for so long.” Like it’s retired, like it has no more left to give and in return receives respect for all it’s given so far, a lifetime of contentment and desired solitude. “I’d like to think I’m just borrowing a bit of its peace whenever I come here to get my mind off things. I express my gratitude by offering my silence in return.”

“Should we stop talking then?” Mark asks kindly, his skin breaking out into goosebumps from the breeze gracing them but he hardly pays it any mind. It’s not uncomfortable, the chilly air dancing around them. It serves as a reminder that he’s only a guest here in the woods and that he’s the one intruding in the harmony that’s been naturally established here over the years.

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure I’ve given them enough silence to make up for us talking,” Jeno laughs lightly, the sound of it swirling around Mark with the mist.

“Thank you for bringing me here and sharing this with me,” Mark tells him sincerely.

“You brought us on our first romantic getaway. I felt the need to be responsible for the second one.”

Mark quirks his brow at Jeno’s bold statement. “What if I didn’t want a second one?”

Jeno wrinkles his nose, like he’s displeased. “Then you’re free to leave.” He turns to look at Mark and breaks into a knowing smile because he knows Mark isn’t about to do that. And he’s right, Mark doesn’t. Mark stays and Jeno doesn’t say anything about it because they know they each want this as much as the other. 

Mark looks up at the sky and fond memories relive themselves inside of his head. “When I was younger, my dad would sit me in his lap and hold me while we gazed at the night sky. He’d hold me back as I tried to reach out and grab the moon,” Mark laughs. He remembers it. Together with his father and mother, they would lay a mat out in the garden by the rose bushes when the night sky was clear and Mark could count the stars with ease. The moon would smile at him, shine brightly over his face and he’d try to grab it, to keep it so the next night he can put it out and do this all over again. His mother would laugh watching him and his father would chuckle while trying to keep him balanced on his lap. It’s one of the memories that hadn’t faded out into a blur of grey, unlike the others where their sharp lines turned soft as Mark grew up and time passed without mercy. Mark fears the day he doesn’t remember the colour of his mother’s favourite dress or the sound of his father’s laughter mixed with hers.

“You sound like you’re really close to your dad. You told me you returned home for him.”

“He’s my whole world,” Mark says with a small smile. “I wouldn’t be me without him.” 

The silence after stretches a little too long. Mark belatedly realises why and he feels so guilty he wants to tear his own skin.

“I’m sorry,” Mark rushes to apologise. “I didn’t mean to be so inconsiderate—”

“You’re _always_ considerate, coward. It’s annoying actually,” Jeno huffs in a laugh. Jeno smiles at him and it settles his unease. “It’s fine. I like hearing you talk about your dad. It brings back memories I thought I’ve forgotten about my own. Tell me more?”

Mark wonders what’s there to tell if he stripped his father away from everything royalty. He finds it hard to find pieces of memories where the things they did didn’t involve the kingdom’s affairs. His father had always belonged on the throne, rightfully where he earned it. His father had raised him to behave like royalty should and he wishes to be as great as his father one day. Even in his own eyes, his father is a king before everything else. He says in the end, “My dad made me everything I am today.” Because it’s true, Mark wouldn’t be half the decent person he is now if his father hadn’t raise him up with grace and unyielding sternness. 

“Sounds like a true dad,” Jeno remarks.

That, Mark thinks, or a true king, shaping his son to be prince-worthy. He has been raised to be moulded into royalty, like a blob of wax stamped on by the royal seal. Whether or not he has turned out like everyone expects is up to their judgement. Mark can only try so hard.

He eyes Jeno silently, his voice coming out in a murmur. “Tell me about yours?”

Jeno hums. “Let’s see. I used to think he was the funniest person on Earth,” Jeno says with a reminiscing smile. “He always made me laugh. He was naturally funny. We actually had a farm. Grew wheat. I used to live three houses down from Jaemin. But I sold it all away when I moved in with him.”

“Your dad sounds like a lot of fun.”

“He was the best,” Jeno recalls fondly. “It was hard to raise me all on his own, especially when I was being a little menace, but he didn’t let it show. He always tried to give me little gifts whenever he sold a large harvest. My favourite gift was this wooden spinning top.” He looks down at his lap where he plays absently with his fingers. The smile on his face is still there, fond but it grows a little sad. “I’d play with it the whole day. He regretted giving it to me after a while.”

Mark tries to keep the smile on Jeno’s face. “Because you ignored all your chores, didn’t you? I can see it pretty well actually.”

“Shut up,” Jeno laughs. He streams out an exhale but it sounds strained, like his throat has gotten tight. Mark gives him space by keeping silent. Jeno shakes his head after taking in a few breaths. “I miss him. Sometimes I just wished he hadn’t gone up north.”

Mark’s heart clenches. He can’t imagine the pain Jeno went through when his father left, when he learnt that his father was never coming back. The pain that haunts him now, still. Mark gingerly rests his hand over Jeno’s knee and Jeno watches as he squeezes it assuringly. Jeno’s lips curl up on one side reservedly, a smile that speaks more of hurt than anything else. 

Jeno quietly turns his head and rests his face against the back of Mark’s shoulder where Mark can’t see him. Mark doesn’t try to turn to look at him. Instead he stays still for Jeno, letting Jeno lean onto him. He feels Jeno’s temple resting weakly on his back and he breathes steadily, thumbing Jeno’s knee slowly and politely ignores Jeno’s staggered breathing. 

He could try to make it easier for Jeno to cry more comfortably by giving something Jeno can hide his sniffling behind. Broken boys don’t like to cry where they can be heard, Mark knows this. He’s horrible at singing but he swallows and murmurs, “My mom used to sing me this song about the moon when I was younger. Do you want to hear it?”

He feels Jeno move his head— a nod— so he clears his throat and starts singing gently about the kind moon who granted a little prince’s wish. Jeno’s crying is faint, but it’s there and Mark covers it with a melody in his voice. When the song ends, Jeno bows his head against Mark’s shoulder blade. There is no more sound of muffled sobbing and Mark doesn’t ask Jeno how he feels, although he achingly wishes that Jeno feels better. 

Mark focuses on the dead leaves beneath his feet. Quietly, without looking back at Jeno, he asks, “Should we make our way back?”

“You’re so nice to me,” Jeno speaks suddenly. It seeps into the stillness surrounding them. Mark’s breathing stops, his heartbeat reverberating in his chest. Jeno hides behind him still and in lieu of not knowing what to say, he continues thumbing slowly over Jeno’s knee. 

“I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it,” Jeno murmurs, lifting his forehead off Mark’s back. Mark’s heart starts thumping harder and he slowly turns to take in Jeno’s face. Jeno hides his eyes underneath the shadow of his hair and during the time he takes to meet Mark’s gaze, he’s conjured up a meek smile. It’s dainty and crystalline, dear like a timeless locket that does nothing but urges Mark to cherish it longingly. 

“Come on,” Jeno says, picking up the lamp off the ground. “It’s gotten quite late. We should head back. Your dad will probably kill me for keeping you.”

Mark blinks out of his daze. “He won’t,” he assures, looking away from Jeno’s face. He feels warmth tingling up the back of his neck. He can’t comprehend how Jeno is so delightful in every single way, even with the darkness that’s shaped a large part of his life. 

Jeno smiles, brighter and hurtfully lovelier, and Mark feels compelled to at least trade everything in his worth to keep that smile on Jeno’s face. Because doing that seems less foolish than wanting to rewrite the past for him. 

—

_Dear Mom,_

_Sorry this letter took a while, I’ve a lot going on lately. I’m doing fine so please don’t worry about me. I couldn’t sleep and I thought maybe writing to you would help. You always knew the right words to say to me._

_I’ve just been thinking a lot lately... If I met a boy in the woods with a dagger, should I ask him about it? And when I can see that he’s hurt, how do I make him feel better? I wish I could do something to take some of his pain away._

_He trusts me and I’d never hurt him. But the truth is I’ve been lying to him from the start. It’s a little messy, isn’t it? It’s not like me to put myself into such complicated situations but somehow here I find myself. I feel like I should tell him everything but a part of me knows how he’d react and I don’t want to face that. I’m being selfish, aren’t I?_

_I hope you’re doing well. Despite all the mess I’ve gotten myself into, I’d love for you to meet Jeno one day. He’s nice when he isn’t being a menace. I’m sure you would find him lovely too._

_Love you always._

_Minhyung_

—

It’s an extremely good day.

Mark isn’t scheduled for any patrol for the day and on his last lesson with Doyoung, Doyoung deems it a shame not to feel the summer sun on their skin and decides to bring Mark to town. Doyoung makes Mark bring his notebook to jot down whatever verbal lesson he gives but Mark’s heart and mind have already ventured elsewhere. He knows too well the trip will end up being more of a leisure errand run rather than a class. Doyoung will become too distracted with buying inks for his scripts and Mark could use a new bow string too. He straps his bow and arrows across his back and brings his notebook along just to please Doyoung.

Doyoung brings Mark to Jeno’s town, a plan completely unbeknownst to him. Doyoung says that it has the best craft shop out of all the ones he’s visited, claiming the quality of their inks immaculate and perfectly to his liking. Mark wants to say he’s only ever been to the bakery, the fruit stalls and the carpenter’s workshop but he bites back his tongue before the words can carelessly tumble out. He hadn’t expected for Doyoung to bring them here and as nice as the trip is, he can’t help worry. 

As they walk along the street and Doyoung speaks a stream of words about the balance of the economy and the importance of trade, Mark fears that he’ll see either Jeno, Jaemin or Jisung around. Doyoung’s reaction to finding out he’s been doing un-princely things terrifies him as much as the possibility of Jeno, Jaemin or Jisung bumping into them. He has to be very careful that they don’t run into each other.

“It’s right by this corner,” Doyoung says leading them down a narrow alley and into a humble store. The store smells of wood, old parchment and it’s noticeably dim despite the sun. The lack of sunlight coming in through the windows is compensated by candles that bring a cozy ambience about the place. Doyoung knows the owner and the owner, him, going by the cheery greeting he gives them when Doyoung enters. Mark feels safer inside rather than outside and he eases his shoulders now that he’s hidden from sight. He lets Doyoung catch up with the shop owner while he wanders towards the shelves looking at the knickknacks and admiring the array of quill pens. 

He idles alone for a while, hearing Doyoung’s cheery laughter mixed with the shop owner’s from the front of the shop and waits for Doyoung to be done as he mindlessly fingers wax seals and envelopes. Just as he is about to check how much longer Doyoung needs, he hears Doyoung call out to him.

“Your Highness, shall we leave?” He sees Doyoung turning around from the counter where the shop owner is, craning his neck to spot Mark sauntering along the shelves. Mark nods, not noticing the slight alarm in the owner’s eyes as he goes up to the counter to join Doyoung and bid the owner goodbye.

“Your Highness?” The owner squeaks, his eyes darting between Mark and Doyoung with a face of panic. Mark freezes the same time Doyoung does. He hadn’t registered Doyoung addressing him with formality because it’s a tune his ears have long been used to. It had been a slip clearly, going by the frenzy building in Doyoung’s eyes. Doyoung wasn’t to address him publicly as royalty to allow him to keep a low profile. 

Doyoung gulps nervously and Mark thinks he sees the shop owner’s soul leave his body. Acting on impulse, Mark lets out a loud laugh and smacks Doyoung on his back in what should look like a friendly gesture. Doyoung jumps a little.

“He’s a funny one, isn’t he? He’s being sarcastic because I always like to take my time. Says I act like royalty! Haha! Rude of him, don’t you think so?” Mark nudges Doyoung’s side and Doyoung smiles through gritted teeth.

“You know me,” Doyoung forces a short laugh that sounds too unnatural. “I’m always sarcastic. Oh my, is it really that late?” Doyoung exclaims, making a show of looking at the sky outside. He rests his hand on Mark’s back and urges Mark towards the door. “We have to leave, unfortunately. It was lovely seeing you again!”

Doyoung hastens them out of the shop and lets out an extremely relieved breath once they’re safely out and walking down the street.

“I am so sorry, it completely slipped my mind,” Doyoung lets out, his regret clear in his tone and eyes. “But do not worry, he’s completely unaware of my post in the palace. He thinks I educate for churches so you’re absolutely safe, I will attest to that, your Highness.”

Mark scrunches his eyebrows together. “Doyoung,” he starts carefully. “Maybe you should just call me Mark. You can drop the formalities when we’re outside the palace.”

The look of horror on Doyoung’s face is expected. “Absolutely not! The king declared that everyone in the palace is to refer to you as—”

“I _know_ , Doyoung. Even Yukhei wouldn’t drop the honorific but it’s risky out here. What if it happens again?”

“It will not,” Doyoung confirms. “I will be sure to watch my words. I give you my promise. Now come on, enough dwelling on that. Didn’t you say you needed new bow strings?”

Doyoung leads them further down the street and Mark knows the town well enough now from all the patrols to know where they’re headed. The shop where he can get his bow string lies at the end of the opposite street, diagonal from the carpenter’s. Mark crosses his fingers.

“How are the patrols coming along?” Doyoung inquires as two knights they recognise walk past them, almost stopping to give Mark a greeting before Mark hurriedly dismisses them off to their posts. “I heard there’s been sightings of the fighters up north.”

Mark nods. There was a sighting last week, in the dead of the night close to the mountains bordering the northern towns. Some people were caught in what had seemed like a training assembly, immediately dispersing when the knights called for them to drop their weapons. The fighters clearly had an escape route planned out but Mark’s men had managed to catch one of them. Under relentless interrogation, they’ve managed to get pieces of inside information and the confirmation that the fighters are indeed growing large in number. Mark had ordered for stricter watch on the woods and granted rights to arrest any person suspected of being involved with the fighters. He tells Doyoung all this in barely a whisper, low enough that even the stealthy winds can’t pick up. 

They arrive at the shop without any of the interruptions Mark had feared. Mark relaxes and takes his time to choose a new bow string, trying to find one to match the specifications of his bow. When they’re done, they start making their way back to the hitching rails where their horses are tied to. Maybe it’s because Mark’s fingers are no longer crossed because he hears,

“Minhyung!”

Mark reacts instantly, his heart rate accelerating at the familiar timbre of voice but it takes Doyoung a while to react to the name— a once-forgotten memory reemerging in his mind. Doyoung startles, almost as much as Mark, watching bewilderedly as a unkempt boy waves animatedly at them. 

Jeno checks the streets on only one side before he’s dashing across to get to where they are. He’s smiling so brightly and Mark’s heart twinges at the dearness of it but anxiety bubbles in his stomach like forewarning.

“Doyoung, I need you to play along with me, no questions asked. This is an order,” Mark murmurs through his teeth, watching as Jeno approaches with wider strides, a bigger smile on his face. “Address me as Minhyung _only._ ”

Doyoung doesn’t have time to respond because Jeno appears right in front of them. 

“Minhyung!” Jeno says cheerily, his eyes hiding as his smile shines. Doyoung becomes something like a marble statue, both from how rigid he stands and the pale complexion of his face. Mark knows this must horrify him so— a stranger outside the palace addressing him not only without honorifics, but by his birth-name. Even people inside the palace, including Doyoung himself, address Mark by his royal name. Even the _king,_ his royal majesty. Doyoung turns a little paler.

“Jeno,” Mark greets as warmly as he can without making it look like something’s off between him and Doyoung. “Were you from the carpenter’s?”

“Yeah. I was just about to head home when I spotted you from across the street. Are you on an errand for your dad again?”

Mark smiles. “No, I was just buying some supplies with my tutor. This is Doyoung. Doyoung, this is Jeno, a friend.”

“Nice to finally meet you! He’s told me a fair bit about you,” Jeno chirps. He’s a little sweaty from working in the workshop for hours, his neck glistens with sweat and strands of hair stick to his forehead. He’s in a grey linen shirt with sleeves rolled up a few times, a cut from the collar down to the mid of his chest. He dons a loose pair of trousers and his hair has been tousled back, greasy and messy but in an extremely likeable kind of way. A Jeno kind of way. It’s breathlessly charming.

“I’d like to say the same,” Doyoung says as neutrally as he can. 

“Oh, were you two just leaving?” Jeno belatedly realises, looking at them with owlish eyes.

“Indeed,” Doyoung says. “We were just about to mount our horses that way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jeno mutters, taking a step right to remove himself from getting in the way but he’s a step nearer to Mark like this. Mark’s heart skips.

“Well, Jeno, we must get going. Have a safe journey home,” Doyoung says, even offering a slight smile.

Mark intakes a breath when Doyoung’s hand finds its place on his back. He’s been dazedly watching Jeno the whole time without registering the conversation. Doyoung’s hold on him grounds him back down and reminds him that he has to duly return to the palace. Yet, there’s something unspeakable, unseeable, that compels him to stay. He feels silly but he desires greatly to walk Jeno home just so he can hear Jeno talk about his day. He feels silly, to want to spend even a few mere minutes more to bask in Jeno’s smile. He wants Jeno to stop him just as Doyoung starts leading him across the street to their horses. He steps off the curb at Doyoung’s urge, meets Jeno’s eyes and suddenly it’s like they’re back at Jeno’s gate again with Jeno hesitating to let him leave. Except that now he is the one hesitant to step away. 

If Jeno had been brave enough to do what they had both wanted then, Mark thinks he can do it too. 

He abruptly stops short of crossing and Doyoung almost bumps into him. Jeno watches him and Mark is going crazy thinking that Jeno is suppressing a stupid smile. 

His heart pounds loudly. It’s as clear as day— they both want this.

“Jeno,” Mark says and it comes out embarrassingly breathless. Jeno bites his lips to hide his eager anticipation. He’s delighted at the idea that Mark wants what he wants too. Mark realises how ridiculous they’re being. He could laugh at them, if he could only stop buzzing madly with nerves. Or maybe it’s excitement. He can’t differentiate with how giddy he’s feeling. He does, however, look earnestly at Jeno, and tries not to smile foolishly at the smile he knows Jeno’s holding back. 

“Would you want me to accompany you back?”

Doyoung stiffens beside him and sends him a bewildered stare. “Your highn- _highly_ serious, Min- _Minhyung_?”

Doyoung looks like he had just committed a crime, which he technically did. He’s going against the king’s words by addressing Mark un-royally. Mark doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cower in fear at Doyoung’s reaction.

“Not if you’re wanted somewhere else?” Jeno says hesitantly, doing a little bounce on his feet as his eyes dart between Mark and Doyoung. 

“I’m sure my dad,” Mark says and Doyoung makes a soft affronted noise from hearing Mark speak of his father, _the king,_ without respect, “wouldn’t mind. As long as Doyoung relays it to him _reasonably_.”

Doyoung blinks at Mark, a quiet yet demanding gaze. Mark meets it daringly, silently begging for Doyoung to trust him. Doyoung’s brows are knitted together perplexedly but he ultimately relents watching the earnest desire in Mark’s eyes. He presses his lips together. “If he only asks about it. I shall take my leave then,” Doyoung remarks. Doyoung must have accepted the strangeness of Jeno’s presence because he lets out a single sigh and ruffles down Mark’s hair. He brings Mark into an abrupt hug that catches Mark off-guard. When Doyoung whispers to him, it dawns on Mark the hug is as sincere as Doyoung cleverly finding a way to talk to him alone. “ _I don’t know what in the world you’re doing but I trust you. Please, be safe_.”

Mark pats Doyoung reassuringly. _“I have my bow and arrows, I’ll be fine.”_

Mark watches as Doyoung hurriedly crosses the street and mounts his horse. He gives Mark a curt nod before he rides off towards the palace. 

“Your tutor cares about you,” Jeno notes once Doyoung is no longer in their sights.

Mark shrugs but there’s a meaningful smile on his face. “Well, he’s more like a brother than anything else.”

Jeno starts them walking towards Thunder. “It’s only natural to worry these days. The presence of royal knights in town is worrying for most.”

“They don’t cause trouble,” Mark states but he words it more like a question.

“They don’t,” Jeno confirms. “It’s just not everyone likes them here. Jaemin, for instance, doesn’t like anything royal.”

“Does he?” Mark muses. He tries not to take it to heart. Jaemin doesn’t seem to favour anything, for that matter. But Jaemin does seem to favour Minhyung, and Mark will take that. 

“Yeah. It’s not very settling to have them, if you think about it. You feel safe but also wary. You start wondering what they are here for.”

Mark shrugs. “Then just don’t think about it.”

Jeno looks at him funny and huffs out an unexpected laugh. “‘ _Just don’t think about it_ ’. You say the funniest things with the most serious face. Alright, let’s not think about it, then.” Jeno turns to him and sends him a dizzying smile. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Mark gives a light scoff but his nerves thrum contentedly.

“I was scared you were just going to leave without spending at least five minutes with me. Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jeno shares. There’s an endearing buzz of delight about him. “I’m glad I have more than five of your minutes though. I was thinking I’d force you to take me back to the creek.”

Mark’s answer to whatever Jeno asks for will never not be yes. In this moment, he learns that he’ll put Jeno first before anything. And because it’s Jeno first, he asks, “Aren’t you tired enough for the day?”

“Yes, and that’s why I want to go there.” Jeno glances at him through squinted eyes. “If you won’t take me there, I will hold you hostage until you will.” 

Mark gives him an unimpressed look. He offers a hand for Jeno to mount Thunder first. Jeno puts out a hand once he’s on, fingers curling in demandingly and Mark feels no hesitance in handing Jeno his bow and arrows. Jeno slings it round his own back and the hand is offered out again. Mark grabs it, feels the calloused skin on Jeno’s palm, knows with unsurprising clarity that he’s memorised the feel of it just like that. He’ll probably think about it for a long time when he’s on his own. He gets on with a huff and grabs the reins. 

“I won’t allow you to hold me hostage,” Mark retorts and Jeno laughs, the sound of wind chimes in a summer breeze.

“Then say yes and take me there!” Jeno exclaims and Mark’s heart soars with his spirits.

Because it’s Jeno first before breathing, Mark does say yes. He tugs the reins and then they’re on their way to their creek of secrets.

Like a little boy once more, Jeno’s face lights up as he stands before the creek. He looks so much like what Mark thinks a summer day is that he fears his summers have to be redefined in Jeno’s smile. 

Jeno rolls up his pants to his knees and steps in. His face scrunches up for a moment when the difference in temperature startles his body. He relaxes easily after and stretches out a hand, palm up, giving Mark a tilt of his head and a smile. It’s always the smile that does it.

Mark huffs a laugh, conceding too easily. He rolls up his own trousers before taking Jeno’s hand. Jeno pulls him in eagerly. The creek ripples around them and preens under the sun rays. Jeno lets go of Mark to throw a handful of water onto Mark’s chest before he makes a run for it. Mark doesn’t really think of chasing him, thinks it’s way beyond him to do that but Jeno whips his head back with a gleeful smile and it’s hard not to give in. Mark knows he’ll regret it. There’ll be a merciless fight and they’ll be soaked through but the worries are reduced to nothing as he splashes his way forward, an unconvincing threat leaving his lips that only spurs Jeno on.

Later, after they’ve played in the creek for a shamefully long time, long enough that their shirts are almost dry on their bodies, they take a rest on the rocks by the side. Jeno casually asks Mark to show him how he shoots.

“You want to see me shoot?” Mark muses.

“I’ve never seen you shoot,” Jeno voices, leaning back on his palms. He nods his chin forward. “Shoot an arrow right there, that spot on the trunk.”

Mark squints at the tree Jeno gestures at. Among the cluster of trees on the other side of the creek, there’s a gaunt tree with a small spot where the bark’s chipped off, about the size of a coin. “Right there?” Mark asks for confirmation.

Jeno nods. “Right there.”

“Where?”

“There!” 

“Where?” Mark asks again, feigning uncertainty just to stall. He doesn’t know why he feels wary shooting in front of Jeno, it’s like part of his identity is exposed if he does. 

Jeno huffs, hand groping around the rocks. He retrieves his dagger from his dagger holder where he’d left it before entering the creek. He stands. Mark watches as he holds it pointed out in front of him. His stance is remarkable; strong hands, weight equally balanced and shoulders bearing no tension. His gaze is fierce and he exudes extreme confidence, something far from impudence. Mark knows how much Jeno had to endure to gain it. 

Jeno adjusts his aim and flings the dagger with a firm thrust that has it stabbing the trunk of the tree perfectly at the spot where he had wanted Mark to shoot. He blows air up towards his hair, a naive show of pride, and grins down at Mark. He flops back down beside Mark again and points at his knife. 

“See? Right there, next to my knife.”

Jeno’s got skills, Mark has to admit, not that he questioned them before. He knows from experience it’s not easy to get a clean and accurate throw from this distance unless trained rigorously for a considerable length of time. Mark raises a brow at Jeno, questioning if Jeno’s serious about wanting to see him shoot. Jeno nods his head adamantly. Mark sighs, stands and picks up his bow and an arrow from where they’d been lying on the ground by the rocks. He stands tall, aligns his arrow with his bow and pulls back the bowstring. The breeze is light and Mark accounts for its direction habitually. He closes an eye and aims. He straightens his back, his arms steady and unyielding as he holds the arrow in place. He squints a little more, feels the rush of familiarity surging to his fingertips. He releases his grip and his arrow whips across with a sharp, whooshing sound, landing squarely next to Jeno’s dagger. 

Jeno whistles and claps slowly in awe. Mark looks down at him and laughs. “Was that alright?”

Jeno clears his throat, narrowing his eyes at where Mark’s arrow sits perfectly in the spot he’d pointed at. “A little bit to the left but I guess it isn’t so bad.”

Mark rolls his eyes and puts his bow away. He sits back down next to Jeno, legs bent close to his body, his arms crossed atop his knees.

“You’re bleeding!” Jeno cries so abruptly that Mark startles, only to be calmed again when he sees it’s only a small cut on his middle finger. It’s a new bow string and it’s expectedly rough on his skin. It’s nothing he’s never experienced before. He tells Jeno it’s fine but Jeno grabs his hand with worry swimming in his eyes before he can pull it away. His heart pulses throughout his whole body.

Jeno brushes the blob of blood away with the sleeve of his shirt and presses Mark’s middle finger between his thumb and forefinger. “Pressure stops the bleeding,” Jeno murmurs, his eyes focused on Mark’s cut. His left hand cradles Mark’s while his right one applies pressure. Mark doesn’t say anything as he watches Jeno silently. Jeno’s dark, damp hair falls over his eyes and his lips are pressed into a straight line. His eyebrows knit together where he’s bent over Mark’s palm. Mark controls his breathing, realising how loud it is when they’re both quiet. He’s so conscious of the sounds he makes, the rapid beating of his heart that he swears he can hear the blood rushing through his veins.

“Jeno, it’s just a small cut,” he murmurs, finding his throat feeling thick. Jeno raises his gaze and Mark’s breath catches in his throat. Jeno lets out a gentle huff of air to blow his hair away from his eyes.

“A small cut in the woods can be nasty. Trust me.” Jeno relieves Mark’s finger from the pressure, resting Mark’s hand on top of his own. He bends closer to observe the cut better and Mark almost flinches back from the proximity of their faces. He doesn’t but he finds his heart pounding faster. 

“There, it’s stopped bleeding. Just don’t go around touching trees or dirt if you don’t want it infected.”

“You’re a physician now?” Mark mutters, surprised at how calm he sounds even though the meager amount of space between them terrifies him greatly. He’s never seen Jeno’s face so close and he finds he doesn’t quite know where to look. 

“Maybe,” Jeno laughs and then completely unpredictably, he lifts Mark’s hand towards his lips and kisses the cut. Mark’s eyes widen bewilderedly and Jeno doesn’t hesitate to imitate the look. His eyes go comically round and he mocks the way Mark’s lips part in surprise. Mark can’t believe how much more cheeky he can get but it’s admittedly more adorable than annoying, even if Mark isn’t about to voice it out loud. The mess of nerves under Mark’s skin buzz wilder and wilder. Jeno laughs when Mark flushes and he scolds Jeno for making fun of him. Every single laugh of Jeno’s blooms a flutter in his chest.

“Jaemin’s and Jisung’s grandmother used to kiss away our wounds when we were younger. She said it would help them heal better and I believed her.” Jeno’s eyes crinkle and Mark’s heart does as well watching it. “I guess I still do.”

Mark slowly pulls his hand away, resting it on his own lap as Jeno settles beside him on the rock comfortably once more. Mark thinks of the scars decorating Jeno’s body, wonders if they’ve fully healed or if they still hurt him even now. 

“Do you want to kiss my scars for me?” Jeno teases, watching how Mark’s eyes are trained on his body, at where they both know a long scar runs below his rib underneath his tunic. Mark blinks and slowly brings his eyes back to Jeno’s face again. Jeno must know what he’s thinking; wondering, if the scars on Jeno’s skin cause him hurt more than just physically. Mark only wishes Jeno didn’t have to have them in the first place, wishes the reasons for having them disappeared along with the scars as well. 

Jeno hums thoughtfully. “It’s a little too late though, they’re already healed.”

 _Are they truly, though?_ Mark wants to ask but he doesn’t dare pry. It’s not his place. 

He schools his face and gives Jeno a look. “I absolutely do not want to kiss your scars.”

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t let you at all!” Jeno barks out, humoured. 

“I don’t know why I always put up with you,” Mark mutters, turning his head away. 

The moment he dips his head the other way, Mark feels something soft and gentle graze his cheek. It’s too warm and too fast because when Mark turns back, stunned, Jeno has already pulled away. 

Jeno’s lips don’t feel anything like his calloused hands.

It’s like Mark’s brain forgets how to function because he forgets every single word he’s ever learnt and says the one word that rattles in his mind again and again. 

“Jeno!”

He flushes all the way to the tip of his ears and curbs the urge to touch the spot where Jeno had _kissed_ him. 

Jeno laughs, less loud than he usually does, _shier_ Mark wants to believe, and ducks his head away. He watches the shimmer of the water in the creek, a delicate smile timidly making its way on his lips. He shrugs, voice coming out a murmur. “Maybe you could use some healing too.”

The buzzing in Mark’s head from the surprise settles upon seeing the gentleness on Jeno’s face. He can’t help but soften incredibly at Jeno’s words, touched at how much Jeno cares for him and understands him enough. But it also makes him feel horrified at how well Jeno can read him to the point that Jeno has the desire for him to be free of hurt. And Mark cares, he cares so much for Jeno too, he wants to heal Jeno of his fears, his doubts and his pain. And if kisses could really heal, if Mark was a little braver, a little more reckless, he would have traced over Jeno’s scars and instead of kissing them one by one, he’d kiss over Jeno’s chest, right over Jeno’s heart to heal what’s been hurting the most all the years he’s been frightfully alone. His heart aches watching Jeno’s face, the way a broken boy is caring for another broken boy. He says it once more, the one thing that comes before everything else, the one thing that stays on his mind when everything’s taken a rest.

“Jeno.”

Jeno turns and meets his gaze, a depth in his eyes that he covers with a smile.

“Jeno,” he whispers again, wanting Jeno to feel the warmth of his care, wanting to feel the warmth of Jeno’s cheek in the palm of his hand. 

But Jeno doesn’t know. He smiles like he always does, always capturing Mark whole without meaning to. He laughs with his eyes, bright and blissfully unaware. “What are you going to do about it, coward?” he asks, tilting his head tauntingly like he’s trying to rile Mark up. Like Mark could ever get mad at him. 

He watches Mark and his eyes sparkle in delight when Mark can only exhale a heavy breath and does nothing else. The only thing Mark thinks of doing is to thank him, he’s not sure what for but he’s grateful so much that his heart feels like it’s been wrung dry and he still wants to give. He wants to do things for Jeno, things that Jeno deserves, wants to tell him things he deserves to hear. Yet the words anchor heavily in his throat and he isn’t able to get any of them out.

Jeno revels in the way Mark doesn’t seem able to fight him. “That’s exactly what I thought! You’ll do nothing about it.” He shakes his head and lets out a satisfied sound. “I win you easy.”

It’s a fact Mark already knows. Jeno always wins him easy. 

Mark sighs quietly, watching his fingers where they’re locked together on his lap. “You’re so strange, Jeno,” he murmurs. _And so dear. And so beautiful inside, as you are outside._ And Mark wants nothing more than for Jeno to know, for Jeno to believe him. 

Jeno hums. “I am a little strange, aren’t I? I wonder what it’s like to be boring like you. Do you ever get tired of yourself?”

Mark scoffs a breath because Jeno will always be Jeno. He flicks his eyes up at him and looks at him warningly. “Jeno.”

“I’m _kidding_ ,” Jeno nudges his shoulders but the smile on his lips tells that he’s still being cheeky.

“You’re unarmed but I still have my bow with me,” Mark warns.

Jeno’s eyes survey the bow by Mark’s feet and their eyes meet briefly before Jeno jolts forward and snatches it away before Mark can. He runs into the creek as Mark shouts his name in despair.

Jeno pumps his hand holding the bow up in the air victoriously and Mark can’t help let out an incredulous breath at Jeno’s antics, his lips curving up on one side, ultimately betraying his pretense of wrath.

“How are you going to shoot me now?” Jeno taunts with a smirk.

“I can stab an arrow through your chest.”

Jeno fakes a gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” Mark agrees. “So be nice and come back here.”

Jeno melts into a smile, feigning obedience and coyness. “I can be nice.” He has a little skip in his steps as he makes his way back from the creek to the rocks, docilely handing over Mark’s bow into Mark’s waiting palm.

“You wouldn’t really shoot me, would you?” Jeno asks as he sits back down beside Mark while Mark puts his bow on the ground, this time away from Jeno’s reach. 

“If you continue being nice.”

Jeno levels him with an unexpected heavy gaze. “I’m serious. If you were in a dire situation, would you shoot me?”

Mark looks at him curiously. “What kind of dire situation would warrant me to—”

“What if I was bad?” Jeno interrupts, something prominent in his tone. “What if I was considered bad and you had to shoot me?”

Jeno’s sudden sharpness stuns him. “Jeno, why would you be bad?”

Jeno makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. “It’s all hypothetical! See, if the prince asked you to—”

Mark’s whole body jolts. “The prince?” He chokes out. He watches Jeno warily. “Jeno, what does the prince have to do with this?”

“I need someone of power!” Jeno retorts. Mark lets him continue seeing how he heated he is. “If the prince comes and says you either shoot me or him, who do you shoot?”

It sounds like a garbled mess of nonsense to Mark’s ears. He can’t imagine a situation where the prince, _himself,_ would say such a thing. It’s an impossible play of events given that _he_ is the prince.

“The prince would never say that,” Mark asserts with an incredulous shake of his head.

“He might,” Jeno defends.

Mark looks at him knowingly. “The prince is a coward.”

Jeno groans, looking more intently at Mark now. Mark sighs and concedes, matching Jeno’s gaze to tell Jeno he’s listening seriously. 

“Fine, let’s say he is. The king then! If the king asked you to choose between him or me, who would you shoot?”

Between his father and Jeno? Mark wants to tell Jeno that it’s ridiculous and it’s never going to happen. But Jeno looks on with expectation in his eyes as he waits for Mark’s answer like it’s the most important thing in the world.

He holds Jeno’s gaze steady, silently asks for Jeno to completely tune to him. When he senses that Jeno is, he says, “I’d miss on purpose.”

Jeno’s body sighs but he takes on a whole different manner as he squares his shoulders. 

“But who is your arrow pointing at?” Jeno begs, like it’s a grave matter, like his life is at stake.

“Jeno, I’d rather shoot my own foot.” And Mark says it so honestly that Jeno knows it too, knows that Mark wouldn’t give any other answer no matter how much he pushes. Jeno deflates. 

He makes a show of his disgruntlement, turning away and side-eying Mark distastefully. “You are such a bummer.”

Mark is hardly affected by it. “ _You_ are so imaginative.”

“I’ve been told, especially back when Jaemin and I were still going to church.” Jeno laughs, probably at the memory of it and does a darling scrunch of his nose. He stretches out his legs, his hand making itself comfortable on Mark’s thigh. He squeezes it, turns his head shyly and sends Mark the softest smile that trembles Mark’s heart. 

“Thank you, Minhyung, for taking me here.”

Mark feels his throat get tight. He tries for a smile. He knocks his knees into Jeno’s. Their arms and thighs brush with how they’re sitting pressed together and the heat radiating from Jeno’s body glazes over Mark’s skin, seeping into the cracks between them. It makes him confuse Jeno with summer all over again— the way it’s dizzying and exhilarating to be with him.

“The last time we were here, we told each other a secret,” Jeno voices. He pats Mark’s thigh. “Why don’t you tell me another one?”

Mark doesn’t have to think long for it. “I’m happy to be here with you,” Mark speaks without doubt, his voice strangely softer than its usual volume, making him sound shy and the sincerity even louder.

Jeno laughs, light and summery. Mark watches as Jeno’s neck flushes. “I like to be with you, I think.” Jeno breathes out and he tilts his head thoughtfully. “No, I like to be with you. Here’s my secret: I’m happier whenever I’m with you.”

Mark looks into Jeno’s eyes and it’s like the water in the creek, startling clear and crystalline, no depth or secrets concealed within them this time. Mark sees Jeno loud and clear. The way Jeno’s so sure of his words renders Mark at a loss.

Mark feels a type of warmth inside that he’s never felt. A new brand of summer.

“I’m glad,” he says at last. “It’s the same, being with you.”

The smile Jeno gives in return is a sweetheart Mark doesn’t think he’s able to forget. 

—

“The boy.”

“Jeno,” Mark supplies dryly.

“Yes.” Doyoung whips his head back from the bookshelf he’s standing in front of. His lips are pressed into a thin line. “The boy, Jeno.”

“ _The boy, Jeno,”_ Mark mocks and Mark knows if Jeno were here to hear this he would have sent Mark a proud smile. The thought of it makes him snicker to himself.

“This is not funny, Prince Mark!” Doyoung says, slamming a book onto Mark’s table. He fixes Mark with a look. There are creases on his forehead from how hard he’s frowning. “I told you I trusted you, and I also trust that you’ll explain to me rationally in a very mature way.”

Doyoung is visibly worried, more than he usually is, and while Mark understands that Doyoung wants to trust him wholeheartedly, he knows Doyoung can’t help but be wary of Jeno. Yukhei had been too. Jeno was a completely unknown face and name and the fact that Jeno displayed such a closeness to him which Doyoung had been unaware of only adds to Doyoung’s concerns. 

Mark sighs, not wanting to upset Doyoung more than necessary. “I met Jeno the day I ran away,” he mutters, trying to fight the shame that comes up whenever he talks about it, “and I’ve been meeting him every time I patrol his town.”

“Every time?” Doyoung asks, bewildered. His disappointment flares immediately but it’s quickly anchored down by an attempt of understanding. Doyoung is never one to act on emotion and it’s clear he expects a reasonable explanation from Mark for his actions.

“Yes but I’m always careful, I promise. He doesn’t know I’m the prince and Yukhei is aware that I’ve been—”

“Yukhei is aware?” Doyoung asks incredulously, his tone rising in pitch. He presses his temples with his fingers like he’s trying to stop the onset of a headache. His shoulders look heavy and the expression on his face is strained. “Yukhei is too soft on you. I keep telling him this. One day he’ll get you both in trouble.”

“It’s only because I begged him,” Mark defends Yukhei firmly. He’s responsible for his own actions, Yukhei doesn’t have anything to do with his choices. “I asked him to let me have a friend. It’s not his fault.”

If a retort was about to leave Doyoung’s mouth, it dies immediately. Doyoung studies Mark’s face solemnly before letting out a soft exhale that cuts between them like the crackling of a tamed fire. “Prince Mark,” he says out carefully, “you are the prince, you know your luxuries are different from others. And what the cost of having those luxuries are.”

His luxuries as the prince: comfort, stability, safety. The cost of his luxuries: normalities like friends, neighbours, being able to be reckless freely without having grave consequences chasing him down. But Jeno... he doesn’t want to label Jeno into something he can or cannot appreciate. He knows his privileges and his limits as royalty but when a little something comes to him, something he’s never experienced before that has a fragile heart worn over too many times, yet smiles gorgeously at him like he hasn’t the slightest clue he’s everything Mark could ever wish for, Mark can’t help in wanting it. A piece of ordinary that comes with him. 

“He’s nice, Doyoung. He’s nice to _me_. And it’s not because I’m the prince.”

Doyoung’s eyes shine with care that treads close to pity. Mark doesn’t like how it looks. “No matter how _nice_ , my prince, I can’t let you go off running without Yukhei’s protection. You know this.”

He knows, but it doesn’t mean he agrees. “I can protect myself,” he counters defensively, strong and stubborn.

Doyoung stares sternly and tiredly at him. Doyoung doesn’t refute even if Mark knows it’s waiting at the tip of his tongue because they’ve been down this path countless times. Whenever Mark insists that the guards do not have to shadow him every second of every hour, Doyoung advises against it. Instead of breaking out into another argument about Mark’s safety as a royal, Doyoung veers into another path. He studies Mark’s face thoroughly. “He calls you Minhyung,” he points out instead, channeling his frustrations away. The demand for an explanation is expected from the tone he speaks with.

Mark feels heat unfurl in his chest, feeling all too conscious of himself and the way Doyoung judges him. It feels like Doyoung is invading something personal when it isn’t. It’s just his name that no one has used in years. Mark doesn’t know why it makes him feel seen and small. He swallows and averts his eyes. He speaks without emotion. “I let him.” 

A moment of silence passes as Doyoung takes him in wordlessly. Doyoung never fails to see everything, even beneath the layers Mark stacks over himself. Doyoung’s been with him for a long time and Doyoung knows how his mind works, what the different looks of his eyes mean. Doyoung seems to understand something the longer he looks at Mark and Mark is afraid of what Doyoung sees. If Doyoung understands something he himself doesn’t. 

“How much does he mean to you?”

Mark feels put on the spot under Doyoung’s intense gaze. 

“I just like spending time with him,” Mark murmurs.

Doyoung lets out a sigh at Mark’s answer, like he’d expected it. “My prince, I understand your heart but what you are doing is risky.”

Mark doesn’t know what Doyoung understands. “It’s not risky.”

“Prince Mark.”

“How?” Mark snaps, large waves rocking in his chest, his heart helpless under their weight. It’s a meaningless question. Doyoung’s taught him to weigh the consequences of each of his choices and he does it naturally now with every serious decision he makes. When he chose to keep seeing Jeno, he knew what it meant for both himself and for Jeno. He _knows_ there are risks but he’d decided that he’s willing to take them. That they’re worth seeing Jeno another day. 

He looks at Doyoung with unreasonable fierceness, his behaviour like an upset child. It shames him but he can’t control himself. “Just let me have this. Why can’t I have this?”

“It’s not a matter of why you can’t have it. It’s what happens because of it.” Doyoung speaks firmly. “You’re putting yourself at risk by going off without guards. And a secret, your highness, is a dangerous thing! We both know it’s not like you to keep them.” Doyoung stares at him, earnest and pleading. “How long more do you plan on lying to him?”

Doyoung’s words nail themselves right at the core of Mark’s conscience because what he’s been doing all this while is lie. He’s been lying to Jeno. It’s as plain as it is, as cruel as it sounds. He’s lying to Jeno every second they spend together because Jeno doesn’t know who he really is and he wants it to remain that way. The delicate trust they have is built on a lie and Mark should feel shame every time Jeno says he trusts him. He should, but he doesn’t because he likes it too much that it wins over everything else he feels. Because it’s Jeno first before anything. It’s Jeno that makes him feel happy unlike anything else.

Mark shakes his head adamantly. His fierceness morphs into desperation. “Why does he have to know? Why can’t things just stay this way?”

“Because it’s _risky_ ,” Doyoung explains patiently but with an ironed resolution. “And above all else, keeping a part of yourself secret from him hurts you. It hurts you, doesn’t it?” 

Mark looks away. His throat gets tight.

“And what about when you hurt him?” Doyoung asks gentler but still as earnest. “Prince Mark, you’re hiding a huge part of yourself. Have you ever considered how he would feel when everything slips out of your control and the truth gets revealed against your wishes?”

Mark feels unsettled just thinking about it but he has considered it, obviously. He’s been taught to weigh consequences from a young age. The end is clear— Jeno will never forgive him. 

He looks straight at Doyoung. “Then Minhyung will be gone, along with the only friend who ever knew him.”

“Prince Mark—”

“So please, if you ever cared about me, please let me have this. It’s the only thing I have ever asked for. I’ve never asked for anything else and I never will. Just this one thing, Doyoung. I want just this, nothing else.”

Doyoung’s gaze falters but he doesn’t bend. It’s what makes him so reliable. Yet in this moment, Mark hates it. “Prince Mark, I’m only worried about what will happen out of this. This could get you into so much trouble. And him too.”

“I won’t let that happen to him.”

“I know you won’t, but you have no control over that. And you can’t stop the hurt he will feel if he ever finds out. And trust me when I say this, it will hurt him more than it will hurt you.”

“He doesn’t have to find out! He never has to,” Mark insists heatedly. Why does Doyoung not trust him? “If he doesn’t know, it won’t have to come to that. No one will get hurt.”

Doyoung goes silent but he watches Mark, gazes so deep into Mark’s eyes that it’s infiltrating; he reads Mark’s mind and the emotions Mark doesn’t want to show. He always has a way of listening to Mark even when Mark doesn’t share. It’s a burden but a relief at the same time because Mark _needs_ to be heard, even if he doesn’t want to. Doyoung reaches out and touches his cheek. Mark’s heart gets heavy at the touch and he stares into Doyoung’s sad eyes.

“I can’t force you to do anything. But I trust you, I always do. You know that, don’t you? And I trust you know what’s best for yourself.”

Mark turns his head away, rejecting Doyoung’s affection because he thinks he can’t do what Doyoung expects of him. Doyoung will be disappointed and he doesn’t want Doyoung to know that. 

“It’s not easy,” he mutters, his voice stiff and weary.

Doyoung’s hand falls to his side. “If it was easy, my prince, then did he really mean much to you?” His voice is kind and it hits Mark worse than when he was firmer with him.

He doesn’t have any words to say. He can’t look up at Doyoung still.

“You are far more kind and thoughtful than you give yourself credit for, your Highness,” Doyoung says, a little more endearingly than Mark deserves. His words sound flawed from bias to Mark’s ears but Mark keeps silent. Doyoung strokes through his hair and Mark’s heart trembles. “Your heart is pure. You worry about the right choices but there are no right or wrong ones. It’s a matter of how bravely you deal with them.” 

Mark ducks his head. His heart gets heavier and it gets even harder for him to look up at Doyoung.

Doyoung lingers before resignedly turning to his own desk when Mark doesn’t speak anything in response. Doyoung collects his scripts and taps them against the desk to align them. “Why don’t we call it a day?”

Mark slowly brings his eyes up to watch Doyoung’s back. Doyoung rarely ends lessons early and it only amplifies the way Mark feels he’s disappointing Doyoung. 

Doyoung busies himself with gathering his books into his arms. He turns back around and directs his eyes towards Mark. They’re not angry nor disappointed, instead patient and understanding. Mark doesn’t think he earns it. 

“We can stop early today. His Majesty requested you for lunch with him in the gardens.”

Mark stills completely and blinks. 

Doyoung carries his books in his arms towards the bookshelves at the side. “He told me to pass it on to you that he’ll be waiting in the south palace garden.” Doyoung stops short and turns to him. He looks at Mark with a small smile, a silent offer of reconciliation. He tilts his head towards the door. “If you sit here any longer you might run late.”

Mark swallows. He bolts up immediately, his chair scraping noisily against the floor. He should say something to check that things between him and Doyoung are fine, that Doyoung hadn’t been hurt or offended at his insolence, but he’s too frazzled to consider that. He’s flying out of the library in a matter of seconds, leaving all his study materials behind without a single glance back. Doyoung shouts after him to be careful, fondness and worry drenching his tone like signature and Mark’s chest lightens at the revelation that Doyoung isn’t utterly upset at him. 

Mark rushes through the corridors of the palace, unbothered that he’s going to end up a mess if he runs all the way to the south palace garden. He skids the corner and worries he’s keeping his father waiting when he hears, “Where are you in a rush to?”

He whips his head back so fast at the voice that he almost topples in the process. He huffs out a breath, breaking into a smile when he sees his father walking up to him leisurely.

“Your Majesty,” Mark says in surprise.

His father turns his head left then right, his eyes squinting. “Where?”

Mark lets out breathless laughter. “Dad.” 

His father smiles. 

He catches his breath as he waits for his father to catch up. He knows he must look quite the state from the chuckle his father lets out.

“i thought I was late,” Mark says as his father starts them strolling towards the garden in the south palace.

“No, you’re right on time.” His father pats his shoulders firmly. His father seems to be in a light-hearted mood and it influences Mark’s own greatly. Mark can’t help but smile. “Come on.”

In the heart of the southern garden is a fountain carved out of white stone, now washed to an acclimated grey through trials of acidic rain and harsh weather. A sparrow hops on the ledge of the fountain, almost goes a whole round before it hops back in reverse. It pauses, as if thoughtfully and joins a friend in the water, wafting about merrily. It must feel like salvation from the summer’s embrace. The sun above shines bright but not threateningly which makes the weather still comfortable enough to bask in.

The fountain poses in the middle of a lush green rectangular lawn, spotted by well-trimmed rose bushes. The bushes bear a mixture of pink, white and yellow roses to brighten up the palace just like how Mark’s mother had liked them. Mark remembers going on walks with her in the garden, holding her hand until they reached the fountain and he’d run a circle round it to chase away the birds before joining her on the grass.

Now, a red mat lies on the lawn in a cozy space between the fountain and the bushes, upon which a basket covered with a white cloth and stacks of plates are laid. Mark makes himself comfortable and sets up their lunch as his father lays out plates for them.

The kitchen has prepared a ravishing array for their lunch. It’s hearty and extremely appetising especially since Mark had skipped breakfast this morning. The set up doesn’t take long and they find themselves diving straight in without much delay.

It’s nice. Mark hasn’t had a meal with his father like this in a long time.

“I heard from the maids that you haven’t been eating proper meals,” his father brings up. His father sits sideways, one leg bent up while the other rests flat on the mat. He bites into an apple as he looks at Mark. “Care to explain?”

“I don’t know why they won’t accept bread rolls as a proper meal,” Mark counters, putting a fork of a sliced roasted chicken in his mouth. “They’re still food.”

His father looks at him pointedly. “I also heard from Doyoung that you’ve been submitting your assignments timely this time around.”

“I always do,” Mark shrugs, trying to convince his father of his lie but he knows it’s not fooling anyone. His father only gives him a knowing look. 

“I _also_ heard from Lord Shin that you’ve been training a lot with Yukhei recently.”

Mark nods absentmindedly. “When we’re off patrols and there’s time between lessons.” He does a double-take and looks at his father strangely. “Are you keeping an eye on me?”

“No, I’m the king I’m too busy to do that,” his father says with an offended tone. But his gaze is warm like a kindling fire and his smile is soft around the edges. “But as a father, I haven’t seen my son much and unfortunately I have to ask around to know what he’s been up to.”

“Did you really?” Mark asks. He can’t help but laugh. The idea of his father going around asking palace staff about his whereabouts and his well-being humours him but touches him all the same. He hadn’t known his father would realise his absence around the palace. He himself hadn’t felt it much. He’s been too whirled in his duties and schedule to realise he hadn’t been home as much as he used to. 

His father sends him an affronted look at being laughed at. “No, I’m sorry dad, it’s just I’ve been really busy. I think we’re close to cracking down on the fighters.”

His father’s brows knit together. The casualness and humour of his manner naturally fades. “You haven’t told me this,” his father says, taking the matter seriously. It is a serious matter and Mark had been wanting to tell him ever since he heard the news of it himself. 

“I’ve only just learnt of it this morning,” Mark informs. “The fighter that we captured agreed to trade information for his release. We now know where their activities are concentrated, but we’re still keeping an eye on him after letting him go.”

“You let him go?”

“It was the deal,” Mark explains. “I wasn’t going to trick him.”

His father eyes him silently. “He could have lied to you.”

“Which is why I’ve asked the knights to watch him. I’ve made him well aware of the consequences if he were found to have given us a false lead.”

His father doesn’t give any reaction as to what he thinks of Mark’s decisions which makes Mark feel a little restless. Mark knows if it was his father’s orders instead, the fighter would still be locked up this very second but Mark has his own way of leading. He wants to do what he feels is right and not what he thinks his father would have done. 

His father doesn’t voice anything out other than to give him sincere advice. Mark appreciates his father letting him deal with this in the way he sees fit. “You have to be very careful while dealing with them. They do not view the royalty favourably and they will not hesitate to put your life in danger to save their own.”

“I know, dad,” Mark informs. He wants the king to trust him. “I’m always careful.”

His father looks at him with an unreadable expression and Mark worries what it means. 

“You’re a far better prince than I was at your age.”

It comes completely unexpected, of all things Mark thought his father would say. He’s at a loss for words. His father, with his sensible ways and wise words, always careful in everything he does, the embodiment of poise, intelligence and understanding. Mark isn’t able to comprehend how he could ever be better than any version of his father, past, present or future.

“It’s true,” his father says, a wistful smile on his lips. “You can ask lord Shin about it. I ran away three times when I was around your age. Skipped lessons to go out shooting in the fields. I caused Lord Shin a real headache. He wasn’t a lord then. He was my guard at the time, like Yukhei is to you.”

“You?” Mark asks, stumped. The idea of his father running away from his obligations astounds him. In no way did he imagine his father to be so unruly and stubborn, two words he would never associate his father with.

His father laughs at his stunned expression. “It’s true. I was different then, a little too loose. When I married your mother, she was worried I would be too easy on our child. And when we had you, she made sure nothing of it.” His father reminisces fondly. “She was right. If it wasn’t for her I would have brought you up poorly. Do you remember? Whenever you got yourself dirty rolling in the fields, she’d scream, _Minhyung! What did I say about getting dirty?”_

Mark remembers. It’s the earliest memory he can recall of when he was six. He was so small then. He remembers going on a walk with his parents, his tiny hands in each of their palms. The memory is fuzzy, he can’t remember if there were guards with them but he remembers the earth being muddy under his boots from the afternoon rain. The pool of mud had looked so tempting that he had wanted to jump in it, so he did.

“And I said, _good job, Minhyung!_ Because you looked like you were having a great time. But your mother glared at me. The scariest thing in the world, her glare.”

Mark’s mind blanks out, his smile slowly fading from his face. His heart thumps quicker and he isn’t

quite able to place what had brought on the constriction he feels around his chest. Maybe it’s the memory of his mother, or the way his father talks about her fondly. Or the way his father had spoken his birth name for the first time in years. 

A huge wave of nostalgia crashes down on him. His throat gets thick.

“But your mother was soft on you too half of the time. She taught me everything I knew about raising a child even though she was as new to it as I was. She always told me she wanted to raise you into a fine gentleman.” His father watches him like he’s watching the years go by on his face. There’s an unspeakable depth in his eyes. “She should see you now.”

Mark blinks, hears his heartbeat pattering a fragile rhythm and he swallows difficultly.

“Mark?”

“Do you miss her?” Mark breathes out. 

His father smiles pensively. Gently, he speaks, “Every single day.”

Mark’s heart pounds. “Do you ever miss him?”

Mark’s father looks at him, trying to understand.

“Do you ever miss Minhyung?” Mark says in a blur, his heartbeat erratic and his mind out of focus. He misses his father all the time. He wonders if his father misses him, the old him, like he does. Mark gazes at him shakily. “Do you ever think about him?” _Do you ever think about Minhyung before he was moulded into a prince? Do you like Mark better because Mark acts like one? Would you like me still if I wasn’t the prince?_

“Mark,” his father says out, brief.

“I’m sorry.”

His father sighs, not at Mark but at himself and tells Mark to come nearer. Mark refuses and hangs his head low. He hides his face from his father. 

His father moves closer and sits next to him and Mark feels like an idiot for feeling like this. He’d been the one who brought the question up and now he feels like breaking down at his own question. He’s such a fool. He doesn’t want to be like this in front of his father.

His father nudges his shoulder with his own but Mark refuses to look up still, shaking his head adamantly. He’s foolish for being stuck in a time he can’t go back, stuck on a name once spoken so dearly. He breathes slowly, hating the heat building behind his eyes. He’s always so weak. He feels like a child.

“There is no difference between Mark and Minhyung to me. They’re both my sons. Mark is just a sign of time, of how much my son has grown and how he’s taking on his responsibilities. I don’t miss Minhyung. Because I see him when I look at you and I see that he’s doing well.”

Mark shakes his head. “ _Mark_ is _barely_ doing well. And Minhyung—” Mark stops, feeling like it’s stupid to compare two versions of himself even if he’d been torn about it his whole life. 

“And Minhyung what?” His father presses. “Minhyung is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. You’re doing a good job as both Mark and Minhyung. I love them both the same. _Because_ they’re the same.”

It gets too much suddenly hearing his father whom he has always respected and admired in earnest speak these words. It’s like he’s been watching his father from afar all this time even though he’s right beside him. And now, it feels like he’s finally able to approach, to come close and have his father’s strong hands catch him safely. He turns his head quickly and ashamedly buries his face into his father’s chest. He doesn’t like being weak in front of his father like this but he finds he can’t control himself. He only has his father, after all. His father hesitantly caresses his head but when Mark breathes in deep shakily, his father’s reservations vanish.

His father strokes through his hair with a touch so gentle Mark almost trembles with it. “Being a prince was the hardest time of my life but you’re doing so much better than I was. I think that speaks so much about you.”

Mark’s heart crumbles, just a little, not enough to make him cry but enough to overwhelm him that his throat feels tight and he forgets how to speak. His father pats his head and he uses the rhythm of it to regain control over his breathing. 

“You should call me that more often,” he eventually mumbles after moments of vulnerable silence. He pulls away, embarrassed. God, he’s seventeen going on eighteen and acting like he’s seven all over again. But he thinks it’s worth sacrificing a piece of his pride. He clears his throat and stares at the mat when he continues. “Mom used to call me Minhyung all the time.”

“Would you want that?”

Mark doesn’t answer, hopes the lack of it does it for him. He knows by tradition he should be addressed as prince all the time because of his status but he wants his father to be an exception. Just like how he became an exception and calls his father ‘dad’ when it’s just them.

And because his father is his father and knows him best, his father says, “How about I call you Minhyung when it’s just us two?”

Mark exhales slowly. “I’d like that.”

“But in this kingdom you’re a prince wherever you step, you have to remember that,” his father reminds him gently.

Mark nods, avoids looking at his father still. “Of course, dad.”

His father’s voice softens like snow melting under the graceful presence of spring. “But you’re my son before any title there is to your name. I hope you don’t forget that either.”

Mark nods, slowly brings his head up to look at the sky. He squints where the sun shines brightly down on them. He wonders if his mother is watching them now. 

He turns his head just enough to catch his father’s face. “I don’t think I could ever forget, dad.”

His father smiles at him. “Good. Come eat, Minhyung. Finish up your lunch. You have a patrol later on, don’t you?”

Mark’s chest squeezes hearing his name and it’s like he’s seven once more. But the best part is that he isn’t— he’s seventeen and he gets to have it all over again. 

—

Midnight drapes a black veil over the sky and the fire torch in Mark’s hand casts a yellow glow on the path in front of him. Yukhei walks on his left, a fire torch in his own as they trail silently behind the other knights. They’re in the woods in the middle of the night in search of the site the previously captured fighter had confessed about. There’s another patrol team combing in from the other direction— they’re hoping to circle the fighters into a trap if they are to be successful tonight. 

They are careful not to be heard as they make their way through the woods. Their fire torches will inevitably give them away and allow the fighters a few advantageous seconds to flee once they are discovered but the fire torches work like a double-edged sword. The pitch-blackness of the forest also reversely means that any light source belonging to the fighters would give them away as well.

“Doyoung asked me about Jeno the other day,” Yukhei murmurs out of nowhere, soft enough to not make Mark jump out of his skin nor catch the attention of the other knights, but loud enough for Mark to pick up. Mark whips his head towards Yukhei, eyebrows knitted together as he gives Yukhei an unimpressed glance. Usually Yukhei is more professional than this when they’re on duty.

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Why not?” Yukhei shoots back to which Mark thinks of countering by promptly reminding him that they’re on a mission. But the fact is they haven’t spotted anything in the last hour so he relents into letting Yukhei have this one.

“I’m guessing Doyoung found out about Jeno? He kept asking me about him.”

Mark thinks it’s very typical of a concerned-Doyoung to do. “He did,” Mark answers. “What did you tell him?” Yukhei himself has never personally met nor spoken to Jeno and Mark can’t imagine there’s much for Yukhei to share even if Yukhei wanted to. He continues investing his attention to their surroundings for any movements or light sources. All he sees are trees and abundance of undergrowth. 

“Not much I could tell him,” Yukhei says like Mark expected. “But you talk about him sometimes when you get reminded of him. I told Doyoung that Jeno seems nice,” Yukhei eyes Mark as he adds, “and that you really seem to enjoy being with him.”

Mark momentarily meets Yukhei’s eyes, tries to read Yukhei briefly under the glow of their fire torches. Yukhei isn’t concealing anything— his expression bares everything for Mark to read yet Mark seems to have a hard time knowing what Yukhei’s intentions are. Mark blinks away.

“I do,” he utters back, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself.

He distractedly continues to keep a lookout, grasping for something to not feel Yukhei’s eyes boring a hole on the side of his face. Yukhei clearly is waiting for a specific response from him but he doesn’t know what it is nor does he want to find out. 

“You really care for him, don’t you?”

Mark falters in his steps. He hides his eyes in the shadows of the forest as he watches the glow of his torch spill over the leaves scattered on the forest floor. “Of course,” he speaks clearly. He’s wary of where Yukhei is bringing the conversation and tries to drive it into a space he can control. “Like I would for you, for Doyoung-”

“But you care for him differently.”

The control gets yanked out of his own hands, like rope running free from his grasp. Yukhei is trying to dig something out of him and he doesn’t like it. He flashes his eyes towards Yukhei. He speaks lowly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You can wed anyone and still be king. I believe you already know this.”

Mark’s eyes widen just enough at Yukhei’s words to show his incredulity. The implication of Yukhei’s words will bring them into a dangerous territory if he chooses to address it; a territory he personally does not want to venture into. He fights back Yukhei’s gaze, tries to gain back control and get Yukhei to stand down. “I have no intentions of taking over the throne from his Majesty for as long as he is able to serve.”

Yukhei sighs. Mark knows he isn’t giving Yukhei the answer he wants to hear. He refuses to allow the conversation to go into the direction Yukhei is steering them towards. He knows what Yukhei means to bring up. He knows of the customs of his kingdom, knows that when the time comes for him to sit on the throne, it will be favourable to have a wife beside him to bear him an heir, but it is in no way mandatory. Mark knows he can be king without a wife. He _knows_ he can have a husband. But Mark cannot even fathom thinking that far ahead. He’s baffled enough that Yukhei would bring Jeno up like this.

“I know you do not have greed for the throne, prince Mark,” Yukhei says steadily. Mark refuses to look at Yukhei regardless, forcing Yukhei to watch ahead as they continue advancing forward, but Yukhei is persistent. His voice is even and composed when he utters his next words but they hold weight. “I am simply asking if you love a particular boy, your Highness.”

It pricks Mark like a thousand needles all at once, how his heart jumps and his blood sings like lava underneath his skin. Yukhei’s taken over complete control, trapping him into a corner he’s been trying to evade. In this moment, he despises and envies the ease that Yukhei has. The way Yukhei could ask him so simply if he _loves_ Jeno, like it’s a simple question with a simple answer. Like Mark hadn’t wasted nights considering the possibility of caring for Jeno in ways beyond platonic. Questioning, if the quickened beating of his heart is because he bears feelings for him. 

Like second-nature, he had weighed the implications of that possibility. He decided that those thoughts shouldn’t mean anything— they were merely an inhabitant of his mind, safe and hidden only for him to know. Until now.

He sends Yukhei a warning stare. Yukhei’s set the beast free from the intangible confines of his mind and now Mark has to deal with what comes with it. 

“Yukhei, we’re on duty. Your question is highly inappropriate.”

Yukhei sees through him instantly. He knows Mark’s evading. He pushes. “But you do, don’t you, your Highness? Do you feel something for him?”

Mark’s only salvation is deflection. He grows more ruffled. “I am serious, Yukhei. Speak carefully now or don’t speak at all.”

Yukhei doesn’t cower. “You know it is not frowned upon in our kingdom.”

“I _know_ , Yukhei.” Mark grits harshly, his tone sharp. He knows, he _knows_ this but he can't possibly harbour _feelings_ towards Jeno- it’s unthinkable. He knows the consequences of falling in love with Jeno when he’d been fooling Jeno all this while. He’s dwelled on them over sleepless nights. He knows it’ll make things more complicated than they already are. To love, while living the risk of being caught in a lie? Jeno would never forgive him nor would Mark forgive himself.

“Jeno isn’t-” Mark struggles to say, finding it difficult to say the words he’s told himself to believe. He hates the understanding he sees in Yukhei’s eyes. He forces the words out of his throat. “What there _is_ between Jeno and I is merely-” 

“You love him, don’t you?” 

The remaining of Mark’s words die in his throat. He freezes in step at Yukhei’s words, how they hit him like a punch to his stomach. He hates how well Yukhei knows him. He glares at Yukhei with all the authority he has out of feral instinct but Yukhei’s words strip him bare down to his core, leaving him defenceless and vulnerable. And he thinks it’s utterly unfair.

It’s unfair because he’s been trying so hard to veer from going there. He knows the truth deep down, knows it without Yukhei prompting him. He knows from the hammering of his heart and the ease with which he smiles around Jeno what it’s supposed to mean, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He reasons if he could pretend he wasn’t in love with Jeno, everything could stay the same. It feels like if he doesn’t acknowledge anything, it doesn’t have to _be_ anything. 

But Yukhei always sees through him. Yukhei’s hit the nail on the head and it makes fury burn in his chest. It doesn’t feel like Yukhei is on his side when Yukhei is supposed to be. Why can’t he just be with Jeno without all the implications and feelings involved? It doesn’t have to be complicated. 

He stares at Yukhei, heat burning up his neck and anger flickering in his eyes. But Yukhei doesn’t wither under his glare, the threat from the royal prince does nothing to shake him. Yukhei takes a hand to his shoulder, a gesture to calm and comfort him. But he refuses to let Yukhei have him weak like this. He shakes his head adamantly and steps clearly away from Yukhei’s touch. 

“You best learn to hold your tongue, Yukhei. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Maybe. But you know how you feel better than I do,” Yukhei tells him undauntedly. “I’m only saying what I see on your face whenever you go off to meet him— whenever you talk about him. You look happy and it used to be so hard to see you smile that way.” 

“Yukhei, I don’t want to talk about this here or ever,” Mark lashes, heat burning on his face. He’s careful not to raise his voice lest the other knights get involved but he makes sure Yukhei understands him loud and clear. “I have no thoughts of bringing him into royalty if you’re saying what I think you are. So _drop it_.”

“You’re going to have to tell him about yourself eventually.”

“Did Doyoung put you up to this?” Mark snaps.

“No!” Yukhei remarks offendedly. His gaze is intense for a second before it immediately simmers and Mark has to look away for fear of crumbling from sheer vulnerability. 

“I know it’s hard but if you love him, don’t you think he deserves to know?”

It’s unfair, how easy it is for Yukhei to accept the fact that he’s in love with Jeno when he’s been struggling with it himself. It’s not easy for him at all. To simply confess he’s the prince while he’s in love with Jeno? He can’t be in love with Jeno for the good of them both. He’s the prince and Jeno... Jeno doesn’t deserve to be meddled into royalty. Jeno deserves a life much better than his, than what royalty can possibly offer. 

He knows the right thing would be for him to tell Jeno the truth, but he can’t imagine how much Jeno will hate him for lying. He’ll lose him, and he doesn’t want that. He can’t even bear to think about it.

He bites the inside of his cheek and glowers at Yukhei. The heat of anger and desperation flashes in his chest. “You’re very selfish, Yukhei.”

Yukhei doesn’t get offended. There’s a look of understanding on Yukhei’s face that makes Mark regret his words immediately. Yukhei isn't the selfish one, he is. He is, and he’s trying not to be. He _will_ tell Jeno, he just isn’t ready for that yet. 

Mark swallows guiltily, knowing an apology to Yukhei is due for his harshness. Before he can utter another word, one of the knights in front turns back and signals to them.

“There’s a fire up ahead!”

Mark exchanges a brief glance with Yukhei, a silent mutual understanding established in a split second. Mark adjusts his bow slung across his chest and darts urgently forth. He catches up with the knights and sees fire glowing between the trees. The shadows on the ground surrounding the fire are vague at best but Mark makes out at least five people. Mark orders for the knights to kill their torches. It’s all a matter of timing now. If the other patrol team reaches here in time-

“Your Highness!”

Mark whips his head to the side, relief flooding in his chest at the appearance of the leader of the other patrol team and his team. If everything goes smoothly, it will be a successful night. Mark gathers the knights, trying to keep it short lest the fighters decide to move.

“Groups of three from each direction, we’ll push them towards the center and have them trapped. Our goal - capture them alive. Injure them only when dire. I want to get information out of them, is that clear?”

Murmurs of affirmation are received and it only takes a few quick rustling for the knights to get into position. Mark stealths along the periphery of the fighters’ gathering site, observing quietly whatever he can make out from between the trees. There are yells, grunts, laughters and the sounds of clashing blades. Mark thinks they’ve uncovered the fighters’ training ground. 

Mark readies himself and takes in a breath. He checks that his knights are ready. Yukhei gives him a curt nod. Mark raises his arm, thrusts it forward and charges through the trees, barging into the training ground with his team of knights behind him. 

“Cease!” He yells, his bow and arrow up threateningly. All the laughter and movements of the fighters die in a flash. A daunting tension hangs dense in the air as the fighters realise they’ve been ambushed. “Cease and no one gets hurt!” 

Now, standing in the middle of the scene, Mark sees that it is indeed a training ground for the fighters. A bonfire has been lit in the middle of the clearing, an abandoned-looking wooden shed at the far left corner, diagonal from Mark’s position. There are trees that have clearly endured cuts and slashes from harsh trainings. Medical supplies like bandages and ointment are cluttered on the floor in front of the shed, clearly about to be used going by some of the nasty cuts the fighters wear on their bodies. They’re more equipped and skilled than they ever were and an even more danger to the palace. 

The fighters are scattered about the fire— the core of their ground— swords, daggers and heavy wooden sticks in hand. Mark and his knights seem to have crashed in on a duelling session. The fighters stay motionless but Mark can see they’re restless and panicking. Mark’s arrow is still pointed up at one of the fighters, the swords of his knights targeting a fighter each. Mark demands for the fighters to drop their weapons.

“Drop them and put your hands up!” Mark bellows, his voice fierce and warning. “Heed my orders and no one gets harmed!”

The fighters glance at each other, their eyes seemingly trailing towards a particular fighter nearest to Mark. He seems the least restless, a calm manner and a determined look in his eyes. Mark knows without a doubt that he’s the leader of the fighters. Mark addresses him.

“Cooperate and every single person here remains safe.”

Their leader stares, hard. He’s persistent, mighty and proud just from the way he carries himself. Yet, he obeys, bending down and slowly putting his dagger on the grass, all the while watching Mark carefully, almost like he’s testing him. The other fighters follow suit and slowly lower down their weapons. Mark and the other knights tentatively step forward, approaching carefully to capture them. When Mark chances a glance to the side to see how the other knights are handling the situation, he hears an abrupt shout of “Now!”

Mark whips his head back in alarm, just in the nick of time to see the leader picking up his dagger and thrusting it at him. Mark manages a “Down!” before he ducks and does an extremely quick check back to see that the other knights are unharmed. Chaos breaks out as the fighters regather their weapons and break out into hostility. The leader’s fled off in a run and Mark doesn’t waste a breath to go after him.

“Capture everyone!” Mark commands as he strays away from the flurry of violence and after the leader. The leader disappears into the trees, deeper into the forest and further away from the bonfire but Mark has quickly attuned himself to the sound of the leader’s steps. He doesn’t think, just runs after the sound of crunched fallen leaves, hoping to cut the distance between them. 

The sound of footsteps abruptly stops and Mark halts in his chase, breathing ruggedly as he strains for a sign of the leader’s position. Mark readies his bow, sees a shadow of a figure behind a rock to his left that he could have missed from how it’s loomed over with shadows of tree branches. Mark keeps his breathing quiet, swiftly choosing the coverage of a thick tree to observe the shadow from. The shadow is still and Mark waits with bated breath. The leader bursts from behind the rock in a sudden moment and Mark jumps out from hiding, arrow ready to shoot. The leader darts another dagger at Mark before Mark can release it. Mark is fast but he isn’t quick enough to escape the dagger slicing across his bicep. He feels it burn but he numbs his mind to the pain. He chases after him, eyes frantically trying not to lose target. He knows he only has seconds before the leader slips away. He hastes as precise an aim he can get with the cut on his arm. It becomes increasingly unbearable to hold up his bow for too long. He shoots without a single drop of hesitation, heart hammering wildly in his chest. His arrow whips ahead of him and he sees it pierce his target. Two loud groans erupt, the sound of two bodies hitting the ground. One of them belongs to Mark, his right hand pressing down on the cut on his left bicep. He feels the searing pain and the wetness of his blood on his fingers. 

“Your Highness!” 

The sound of hurried footsteps get louder and louder. Yukhei’s caught up to him but Mark nudges his chin forward. “Near the rocks!” he instructs in a grit. “I shot his leg, he can’t run. Handle him first.”

Yukhei does as ordered, dragging the wounded leader from his refuge behind a rock and ties his hands up. Yukhei binds him to a tree to secure his movements till the other knights are able to come and help him. 

Mark huffs out his breath as he watches the leader of the fighters tied up in front of him, the leader’s chest heaving and sweat trickling down his forehead. He's young, likely only a few years older than Mark is. His grungy brown hair sticks to his face that’s covered with filth. He’s taller, broader, almost like Yukhei, only that he’s leaner and more reckless. Maybe it’s because he’s wounded or because he’s being held against his will but Mark sees him more clearly now, sees the absence of confidence in his shoulders, the way his eyes are more wary and burdened. 

He’s barefooted, feet covered with dried blood, mud and scratches. Mark sees the wound where his arrow had hit him in his calf. It’s not there, sticking out of his leg. The leader had pulled it out of him before Yukhei got to him. The arrow didn’t penetrate completely but it went deep enough to form a deep cut. It’s bleeding more profusely than Mark’s own wound and Mark’s whole upper-sleeve is soaked with his blood. The leader doesn’t show any sign of pain on his face, all he does is stare at Mark defiantly.

Yukhei comes to tend to him but he waves Yukhei off after checking that Yukhei is unharmed. He orders Yukhei to check on the other knights and the captured fighters, assuring Yukhei that he can deal with his arm on his own. The leader eyes him the whole time with a piercing gaze but Mark doesn’t pay it any mind. The pain in his arm demands his attention more than anything else. He tears off his sleeve from the elbow down and bites down on one side while he wraps the other around his cut, forming a tight knot around it. Mark exhales deeply and leans back exhaustedly against a trunk, his eyes landing on the pool of blood on the grass across him from the leader’s own wound. 

He eyes the captive tersely before he gets up and kneels on the dewy grass in front of him. The leader watches Mark with cautious eyes. “Stay away,” he barks, furious and guarded.

“Or what?” Mark counters head-on, knowing fully well the captive leader isn’t able to move his hands, and going by the state he's in, neither his legs. Mark ignores the glare he receives and feels his own muscles strain when he tears off the other sleeve of his tunic. He raises his eyes to meet the leader’s, a wordless, tense exchange between them. He slides the cloth behind the leader’s injured leg, hears the strangled inhale he takes in when he brushes against the cut. Mark doesn’t look up to see how he’s faring with the pain as he wraps the cloth around the wound, locking the leader’s leg between his knees when the leader twitches in pain. The leader tries to free himself from Mark but by the time he tires himself from struggling, Mark’s already done bandaging up his cut. Mark’s hands were bloodied by his own blood but now the leader’s blood leaves a new coating of red against his skin. He wraps the cloth around the cut two more times and ties it securely with a knot. He hears the hiss of breath and the muffled groan from the leader. Mark curtly returns to the trunk he’d been resting at and watches the leader from there. 

The leader doesn’t let up his glare. It’s menacing and tinged with humiliation, like Mark’s aid is the worst punishment he could ever receive. “Why is the prince playing nurse with me?” he spits. He’s sweaty and growing paler by the minute. He needs to be treated as soon as they get him back to the palace. 

“Why is the prince playing nurse for people who want him dead!” He snarls.

Mark has no reason to play with him and agitate him nor the energy to assert his dominance. Mark just sits and meets the leader’s glare head-on.

“Can’t leave you to die without getting you to talk.”

The leader huffs out a bitter laugh. He leans his head back and tilts his chin up, a show of arrogance, his last attempt at saving his pride. Mark cannot be any less bothered. 

“You’ll never get anything out of me.”

Mark lets out an exhale, watches the leader uninterestedly before he ignores him and stands when Yukhei approaches. They’re a distance away from the training ground and Mark still has no idea what the casualties are like. 

“Give me a report.”

“We have all the fighters captured, your Highness,” Yukhei informs him. “No fatalities. A total of five injured fighters including him,” he jerks his head towards the leader, “and three wounded knights.” Yukhei eyes him, lips pressed together. “And one injured royalty.”

“Alright, I got it,” Mark remarks, giving him a look. “Are the knights all well enough to bring the fighters back to the palace? Or do we have to make camp?”

Yukhei shakes his head. “They’re rounding up the fighters as we speak. Everyone’s waiting for you to start heading out.”

“Round all of them here. There’s a path out from here that leads quickly back to the palace.”

“And him?”

“Untie him.”

“Untie him?” Yukhei asks, unsurely. He gives the leader a scan-over and frowns when the leader stares at him, unimpressed. “If he runs?”

“In this state?” Mark asks, watching how the leader turns his head away arrogantly. “I’d like to see him try.”

Yukhei goes round the back of the tree, undoes the rope, freeing the leader from his restraints. Yukhei comes back round and hurls him to his feet. His hands are still tied but he’s free to flee, yet he doesn’t make a run for it just like Mark expects. There’s too much strain on his leg. He doesn't move even, just stays with his head down, refusing to let any of them see his face. Mark figures it must be a matter of pride, to be captured and held hostage by your enemy. Yukhei exchanges a glance with Mark and Mark nods before Yukhei disappears to get back to the training ground to carry out orders.

“What’s your name?” Mark asks tersely.

The leader lets out an empty laugh with his head hanging low. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Mark keeps watch over him as he waits for his knights to gather. A pair of knights appear within view. Mark gestures them to walk straight ahead where he knows the path leads out of the forest. They’re holding a fighter captive, restricting his hands behind his back as they shove him forward.

“Let go of me!” The captive grunts out. 

The leader snaps his head up. The two captives stare wordlessly at each other as the knights force the captive in their hold to keep moving. Mark sees a new emotion on the leader’s face, guilt and concern there when it was indifferent before. The look of devastation and desperation they both wear as they hold each other’s gazes tell a thousand things. The leader hadn’t shown the slightest of emotions when he got shot but he bears everything in his eyes now as he watches the captive being taken away. 

Everyone has a weakness and Mark’s just discovered his.

“Sicheng,” the leader says out in a breathless whisper. Mark seizes his mistake, picks up the name and memorises it. The moment the leader glances at him, Mark sees his immediate regret. 

Mark stops the knights just as they pass in front of him. He steps towards them and lifts Sicheng’s face up with his finger. “Sicheng?” He tests out on his tongue. He sees the fight clear on Sicheng’s face. The leader struggles to stop Mark, tries to push Mark away from Sicheng but before he even reaches Mark, he falls miserably, wincing and grabbing his calf.

Mark pulls his hand away. He watches the leader’s desperate expression with interest.

“Take him away,” Mark tells the knights with a nod forward. They nudge Sicheng to walk, keeping his hands glued behind his back.

“Maybe Sicheng can tell us everything,” Mark remarks, looking the leader dead in the eye. It’s unlike him to act so merciless but he has to do what has to be done. The leader stares at him in contempt before a pair of knights comes and brings him away. Mark only moves when all the other captured fighters have marched past him, hands tied behind their back, knights flanked on each of their sides.

—

Twilight is slowly marking its presence above and Mark has a promise to fulfil to a boy living in the outskirts of a small town. 

“Where are you going?” Yukhei runs to catch up to him.

“Wherever you’re going,” Mark answers easily as he briskly walks to the stables, leaving Yukhei a few steps behind again. Yukhei lets out a noise of frustration and catches up to him once more.

“That’s my line, _and_ you’re not supposed to be on duty. I heard from Doyoung that it’s the physician’s orders.”

“I’m fine,” Mark retorts, like Yukhei’s just said the silliest thing.

Yukhei makes a sound of protest. Out of nowhere, he whips Mark’s bicep with the back of his palm, right where the dagger had cut Mark during the ambush. It stings and Mark isn’t able to hold back the wince that appears on his face in time.

“Doesn’t look fine to me,” Yukhei comments. Mark duly ignores him and quickens his steps now that the stable is in view. Yukhei groans at being left behind again. “Prince Mark, you’re _off_ the night patrol and if your stitches reopen and you bleed to death, I will stand over you and watch as you take your dying breath. I won’t save you, I mean it.”

“It’s nice to know that my personal guard is very reliable.”

Yukhei rushes ahead and stands adamantly in Mark’s way. His eyebrows are scrunched and his tone is challenging. “I’m serious, your Highness. Stay home unless you want his Majesty to have my head.”

Mark doesn’t react to Yukhei’s dramatics. He simply meets Yukhei’s fierce gaze head-on. “Yukhei, I order you to allow me to lead my own team and carry out my responsibilities. ” 

“With all respect, your Highness, no.”

“Yukhei.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Yukhei gives him an affronted look. “Your Highness, a prince does not plead.”

It only encourages Mark to try again. “Please? It’s just a scratch.” He flaps his arms up and down. “Look, I still have two arms.”

Yukhei lets out an incredulous huff. “A scratch? A scratch that needs seven stitches?”

“Stop making it a big-”

“Your safety is my responsibility,” Yukhei states curtly. There’s something to his tone, something like regret and fear, and it makes Mark feel sorry for getting injured. Him getting harmed puts both of them in trouble, Yukhei more than him. He knows Yukhei has immense pride for his role as royal guard and he knows how useless Yukhei feels for not upholding his duty to keep him safe. 

Mark rests his arms limply by his side. “Yukhei, people get injured in attacks all the time.”

“People, but not the prince! You’re lucky it was your arm that got hit and not your chest.” Yukhei inhales a sharp breath. “It should have hit me. I should have been faster.”

Mark sighs, stepping closer to him. He punches Yukhei’s chest half-heartedly. “That’s not any better at all, you fool.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Mark looks pointedly into Yukhei’s eyes. He pokes a finger into Yukhei’s chest. “Before all your royal duties, you are here as my friend. You got that?”

Yukhei averts his eyes because this is how Mark always gets his way and Doyoung is right, Yukhei has always been weak for him. “And if you’re my friend,” Mark says gentler, “you’ll let me leave the palace to see Jeno.”

Yukhei closes his eyes and a grimace shows on his face, so Mark knows he’s managed to shake off Yukhei’s persistence. He pleads once more to tilt things into his favour. “Please let me see him.” 

“You never wanted to go on patrol, did you? It’s all for the boy.”

Mark doesn’t shy away. “I’ll be fine with him, I promise. I won’t do anything that’ll make me bleed to death.”

Yukhei groans, pulling his own face. He pushes Mark’s arm away from his chest and points at Mark’s face. “Get back to town on time and wait for me to escort you back to the palace, clear?”

Mark smiles amusedly. “Are you giving me an order?”

“Yes, so take it if you want to see your Jeno, otherwise your ass stays in the palace.”

“He’s not my Jeno,” Mark mutters. Yukhei gives him a look and Mark would rather not push his luck any further, so he straightens his shoulders and mocks a salute. “Yes, sir.”

Yukhei gives him a glare that years of friendship decode as affectionate. He promptly turns and leaves Mark behind as he stalks to the stable. Mark catches up to him and bumps into him intentionally. “Thank you, Yukhei.”

“Don’t thank me. I just neglected my duties as your guard.”

Mark laughs. “I mean it, Yukhei. Thank you for trusting me.”

“You’ll really make me lose my head one day, your Highness.”

Once they’re at the stable, Mark leads Thunder out by the reins with Yukhei and his horse next to him.

“Has any of the fighters talked yet?” Mark asks, knowing that they refused to speak when they were questioned the last he heard. They’re all locked up in the cells in the east palace and they haven’t opened their mouths other than to eat just to survive another day. The leader doesn’t even eat. Mark strongly believes their only chance of getting him to talk is through Sicheng. If the fighters’ silence persists for any longer, he’ll have to threaten the leader with the idea of Sicheng getting harmed. Mark will never pull through with it, he’ll just have to make it believable enough.

“What about the fighter Sicheng? Did he say anything?”

“He’s the most cooperative,” Yukhei says as they both mount their horses. “But even that isn’t much to go on. He twists his way around our questions. He’s a man familiar with captures and interrogations, it seems, but we can’t figure out his identity still. The only thing worth noting is that he has a concealed accent. We think he’s from the neighbouring kingdom.”

That catches Mark by surprise. Why would someone from the neighbouring kingdom come here, amidst the tension, and join the fighters? If there’s something bigger going on, it’s something that Mark can’t make out. 

“Tell me if their leader talks,” Mark says. “I’ll be back in town before sunrise.” He pulls the reins and commands for Thunder to go. Then, he’s off.

When Mark nears Jeno’s house, twilight has gracefully come and passed and a deep, hazy blue settles overhead. As he rides nearer towards the gates, he sees Jaemin and Jeno outside conversing among themselves. He thought they’d be indoors since it’s dark out and the day has come to a rest. When he’s close enough, he can make out their voices, raised and riled and he starts to worry if something’s the matter.

“It’s not safe!”

Jeno tugs Jaemin’s arm back. Jaemin wrenches himself free. 

“He’s my brother!”

Mark pulls Thunder to a stop by the gates and Thunder’s neigh breaks up their argument. Jeno’s expression morphs into that of relief when he sees Mark and he runs to the gates, his palms pressing down on the ledge.

“Minhyung! You have to stop Jaemin from going into the woods,” Jeno says almost pleadingly. “I’ve been trying to talk sense into him but he just won’t listen!”

“You’re the one not seeing reason!”

“Hey, hey!” Mark cuts in sharply before they start yelling at each other again. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Ji,” Jeno says, worry clinging to his words. Dread starts to brew in Mark’s stomach. If it has to do with Jisung and has Jaemin this agitated and restless, it can’t be anything good. He searches Jaemin’s face, sees the anxiety in his eyes veiled behind a nonchalant facade. A tremble hides in the press of his lips. Jaemin isn’t the easiest to read but Mark knows Jaemin well enough to know that Jaemin is frightened. Extremely, by the looks of it and it only makes Mark fear whatever could have happened to Jisung. 

“What’s wrong with Jisung?” Mark presses worriedly. “Where is he?” 

“It’s nothing.” Jaemin says but he averts Mark’s eyes. “I just need to go to the woods to-”

“There are knights everywhere!” Jeno exclaims, enraged. He’s scared. “You don’t know what will happen if you go!”

“I know I have a brother that I don’t want dead!” Jaemin yells, his eyes a flaring blaze to challenge Jeno’s intense glare. Jeno doesn’t flinch. He’s not retaliating, no, he’s begging silently, persistently, hoping for Jaemin to yield. But Jaemin is stubborn and terrified, and it makes him impossible to talk to. Mark has no idea what’s going on but he’s heard enough to make out that Jisung might be in trouble and he doesn’t need to hear more to want to keep Jisung safe. 

“Where is Ji?” He interrupts urgently. “Is he in the woods? Jaemin, tell me.”

Jaemin turns to him, watches him for a contemplative second before he says, “We think he might have gone.”

“How sure are you?” Mark presses. He needs the confirmation before he acts.

“He was gone when we got back. He took my dagger, it’s likely he went there. He’s always wanted-” Jaemin stops, like he’s caught himself saying something he wasn’t supposed to. His brows furrow even closer together. “It doesn’t matter. I _know_ he’s gone there. I have to go after him.”

Jeno looks back at Jaemin in disbelief. “Are you mad? There are knights crawling all over-”

“What about Ji, then?” Jaemin snaps harshly. “Do you expect me to just leave him? Just because he’s not your brother-”

“How dare you!” Jeno spits out in fury, getting all up in Jaemin’s face. He looks a second away from punching him. “You know he’s as much a brother to me as he is to you!”

“I’ll go look for him,” Mark cuts in tersely. There’s no point arguing back and forth when Jisung could possibly be out there in the woods alone. Mark understands Jeno doesn’t want to risk losing Jaemin too by letting Jaemin go after Jisung, but he also understands Jaemin’s situation. The only way to handle this is to have them both stay out of the woods where it’s safe for them. If they go into the woods armed and get caught by the knights, it’ll be hard for them to explain themselves. Mark’s the only one who can go into the woods and be free of harm. The knights listen to him. He’s the only one among them who can get to Jisung the fastest and safest. 

Jeno looks at him like he’s gone crazy. He bursts through the gates and stands firmly before Thunder, obstructing the path so Mark isn’t able to ride off.

“Minhyung,” he warns. 

“It’s fine, Jeno. I’ll be okay.”

Jeno exhales out heavily. His eyes are pleading. “You have to believe that I’m worried about Ji too. He’s like my own brother. If I could drop everything to look for him, I would.” He glances back at Jaemin. “But it’s dangerous, you know why it’s dangerous.”

Jaemin sighs. It sounds troubled. “Jeno, I know why you’re scared but Ji could be in danger-”

“Ji _will_ come back, I know he will! I trust him! But us, going into the woods? Jaemin, it’s risky-”

“Jeno,” Mark interrupts. There’s no negotiation. He’ll go and bring Jisung back safely. “I’ll go find him. Trust me.”

Jeno looks like he’s about to protest again but Mark extends a hand out, a silent offer of comfort and reassurance. Jeno bites his lips but he caves in and reaches for Mark’s forearm. His grip is tight and Mark knows Jeno’s scared for him. But Jeno doesn’t have to be because there’s no one who will do him harm. He’s the prince. 

Mark slides his arm down Jeno’s to let their palms meet. He gets Jeno’s hand in his and Jeno clutches his tightly. Jeno’s hand is calloused and warm, just like how he’s memorised it. Jeno looks earnestly into his eyes and he knows how afraid Jeno is. He doesn’t want Jeno to be. He squeezes Jeno’s hand as a silent promise. Jeno’s worry becomes more muted and faith trickles in between them. He knows he’s got Jeno’s trust.

Jeno sighs. “Minhyung.”

Mark thumbs the back of his palm. “I’ll be fine. I have Thunder with me, and my bow and arrows, see?” Mark twists to show them strapped to his back. “I’ll go in, get Ji and be back before you know it.”

“Promise you’ll come back quickly.”

“I promise,” Mark says steadily, holding Jeno’s gaze because he knows Jeno needs to see that he means it. 

“If I could come with, I would offer myself,” Jaemin voices. 

“Thunder can only carry two,” Mark provides, meeting Jaemin’s eyes understandingly. “I’ll bring your brother back safely.”

“I owe you a great favour, Minhyung.”

Mark nods curtly. It is no favour at all. He wants Jisung safe as much as they do. Jisung too, has become something of a dear brother to him. 

“Be safe,” Jeno urges. Mark softens at Jeno’s display of worry and gives Jeno a reassuring nod. His hand slips away from Jeno’s to hold the reins and Jeno watches him with a heavy heart as he yells for Thunder to sprint off into the woods.

It’s dark, an inky black swirling with the mist, and Mark fears how Jisung navigates without a lamp or a torch with him. Jisung doesn’t even have a horse for a swift escape from the knights. Mark’s no stranger to the darkness of the woods but Jisung isn’t as acquainted as he is. It’s difficult for him to find for Jisung when he has no hint of where Jisung could be nor what he is up to either. He can only pray that wherever Jisung is, he’s unharmed and away from the knights. Mark trusts that his knights obey his orders well, which means they are very unlikely to let off any suspicious person lurking in the woods, especially if armed. Which is why Mark has to find Jisung before his knights do.

Mark rides into the thick of the woods, yelling Jisung’s name and trying to get a glimpse of him behind trees, rocks or anywhere. He’s deep in the forest and relying solely on his poor vision in the night and the hope that Jisung hears his voice. 

He starts feeling increasingly restless the more he combs through the woods. It gets less and less likely that he’ll find Jisung but he isn’t going to give up. He’s not going back without having Jisung safe with him. He’s about to turn right, away from the mess of fallen trees that obstructs a clear path when suddenly out of the corner of his eyes from between the branches, he sees a mop of hair moving. Then in the faintest voice he hears, “Minhyung?”

Mark pulls Thunder to an abrupt halt. Thunders neighs loudly at the sudden command. Mark calms him while whipping his head to the other side, eyes frantically scanning the pile of haphazardly strewn trees. Jisung’s face appears from the branches, wearing an expression of relief and fear in one. He’s crouching, hidden among the undergrowths behind the fallen trees. The heavy feeling in Mark’s chest immediately eases at seeing Jisung’s face. 

“Minhyung! Minhyung!”

“Ji, stay there!” He exclaims. He jumps off of Thunder and rushes over. He climbs hastily on top of the pile of trees, shoving away the thick growths and broken branches to reach a hand out for Jisung to grab onto. Jisung manages to grab it and he heaves Jisung up and out from where he had been hiding. He gets Jisung freed from the mess but there’s a slight limp in Jisung’s right leg when he pulls him to move. He notices that the right side of Jisung’s trousers is torn. 

“Are you injured?” He asks, dropping himself and inspecting it immediately. He gets the fabric out of the way to reveal Jisung’s calf. There are red scratches but they don’t seem to have cut too deeply. He looks up and searches Jisung’s face to see if he’s in any pain. 

Jisung shakes his head. “I got scratched from when I was running away from the knights.” His voice wavers but he’s trying not to let it show. “I’m fine.”

Jisung’s hands are trembling. Before Mark can check his arms and body for any other cuts, Jisung flings himself into Mark’s chest, wrapping his arms tightly around Mark’s torso. Mark takes in a breath out of surprise before his hand comes to caress through Jisung’s hair and rub down Jisung’s back. He can feel Jisung’s whole body shaking. He breathes calmly and tries to get Jisung to follow. He continues soothing Jisung gently, holding Jisung close knowing that Jisung needs it. 

“I’m here now. You’re safe, okay?” Mark comforts him. He feels Jisung nod against his chest. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Jisung utters, clearing his throat and pulling away. 

Mark cups Jisung’s face when he sees how weary he looks. His chest pangs. He brushes Jisung’s hair away. “I’ll get you home, okay? Do you want to go back to your brother?”

Guilt swims in Jisung’s eyes. He nods. 

“Is the dagger with you?”

Jisung hesitates to answer but Mark has no intentions of reprimanding him. It’s not his place. 

“Promise me whatever happens, you’re never going to use the dagger. Even if the knights appear,” Mark insists. “You have to trust me, Ji. Tell me you won’t use it.”

Jisung falters but he trusts Mark immensely, Mark learns, when he looks into Jisung’s eyes. He pulls Jisung’s arm round his shoulder after Jisung promises. He brings Jisung towards Thunder. Jisung gives Thunder a quick, gentle pet before Mark holds him by his waist and hoists him up onto Thunder’s back. He forgets about the wound on his arm until it screams painfully from the exertion. He immediately clutches it and clamps down on his jaw. Jisung watches him but he doesn’t say anything to feed Jisung’s curious gaze. He mounts himself up and tells Jisung to hold onto him tight.

“Remember your promise.” Jisung nods.

He orders Thunder to ride off. Thunder rides fast, like he understands the direness of the situation. The bond he’s established with Thunder resonates deeper now more than ever. His emotions travel through the intangible space between them, reaching Thunder in a huge crashing wave that Thunder absorbs magnificently. Thunder knows what he needs. Thunder sprints hard and so does Mark’s heart in his chest. He’s apprehensive of being spotted by the knights, of his identity being exposed in front of Jisung. He squeezes his thighs to send Thunder a signal and Thunder gallops faster to bring them out of the woods.

“No, not this way! There are knights here!” Jisung whispers. 

Mark knows, better than anyone, but it’s the fastest way out of the woods. The longer they stay inside, the more vulnerable the both of them are. Mark doesn’t veer Thunder away from the path.

Jisung falls quiet, the tight hold of his arms around Mark’s waist tells Mark that Jisung still trusts him.

Like everything has been scripted to play out Mark’s horror, a pair of knights appear in their path with torches, their faces illuminated by the glow of their flames. They can’t make out Mark through the darkness and when they command for Mark to stop, Mark doesn’t heed. Mark’s heart races harder as Thunder gallops faster and faster. Bewildered at Mark’s defiance, the knights demand Mark to halt, _by orders of the prince,_ and when he doesn’t, they hold their torches towards him to discern his identity. Mark turns his head away but the startling gasp he hears tells him that his effort is for naught. He faces forward resolutely, sees the glow of their fire unmasking the side of his face. Their faces are instantly coloured with stark realisation. Mark’s not supposed to be out of the palace, and Mark is most definitely not supposed to be riding on his horse with a boy out of the woods.

“Your High-”

“Stay back!” Mark orders fiercely, hoping to drown their words from being heard. “Out of the way!”

The knights stumble back and Mark doesn’t chance a glance behind as he speeds ahead. He’s glad he can’t see the curious stare he knows Jisung must be giving him. He rides Thunder determinedly out of the woods with the sole intention of bringing Jisung home.

Jaemin and Jeno are waiting restlessly in front of the door when Mark makes them out from the distance. When the first gallops of Thunder’s hooves sound against the beaten road in front of their house, Jaemin bolts up, rushes forward and out the gates. Jeno isn’t in any less of a rush.

“Jisung!” Jaemin shouts as Mark slows Thunder down. Mark jumps off and carries Jisung down by his waist. Jaemin takes in Jisung’s torn pants first, immediately squatting to inspect the state of his leg without saying anything. Jeno is more vocal between them, and Jisung assures him that he’s fine. 

Jaemin shoots up after he checks Jisung for injuries. He stares sharply into Jisung’s eyes, an intimidating and unforgiving glare that renders Jisung unable to meet his face. But more than just fury, Mark detects shame in Jaemin’s eyes too. Like Jaemin’s mad he can’t do better to take care of Jisung.

“ _Jisung_ you-”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung quickly mumbles out. There’s only remorse in the way he stands, in the way he can’t bring up his eyes. Jaemin sucks in a breath, his eyes shaky and then he’s grabbing Jisung and locking him in a fierce embrace. A weary smile is painted across Jeno’s face. He turns to Mark and touches Mark’s arm gently, worry in his voice when he asks, “And you? Are hurt anywhere?”

Mark curls his fingers around Jeno’s arm, smiles and shakes his head as an answer. Jeno lets out a relieved exhale and nods. Jeno starts to herd everyone back inside, ruffling Jisung’s hair obnoxiously because of what he’d put everyone through. Mark stays behind, stating that he’ll lead Thunder to the stable before he joins them and gets taken by surprise when Jaemin offers to accompany him.

Jaemin and Jeno exchange a look as Jeno leads Jisung inside. Jaemin turns to Mark, his eyebrows furrowed but his eyes are kind. “Can I talk to you?”

Mark nods, leading Thunder to the stable behind the house with Jaemin beside him. Mark waits for Jaemin to speak but Jaemin doesn’t say anything until Thunder has well entered the stable. Only then does Jaemin lead him outside towards the fences surrounding the barn. There are wooden stumps for them to sit but Mark chooses to lean over the ledge of the fence like how Jaemin is. 

Jaemin has a hardened face, gaze well off into the fields ahead and Mark wonders why Jaemin’s heart is heavy. The night sky is sombre and the feeling Jaemin gives him doesn’t sit right in his stomach. Yet, he remains calm and patient, believing that whatever Jaemin wants to talk to him about would explain why the mood isn’t as light-hearted as he thought it would be at Jisung’s safe return.

“I want to thank you for bringing my brother back,” Jaemin starts, his voice grave and regretful but dripping with gratitude. His hands are clasped together over the ledge. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come.”

“Of course I would come,” Mark replies easily and Jaemin’s lip twitches. It’s as good as a smile.

“I would have never put you at risk of danger if you weren’t my only hope. Ji’s usually not this defiant.” Jaemin inhales. The wind tousles his hair with it as it rushes past their faces into the vast distance ahead. “Jeno and I came home to an opened letter and Jisung was already gone.”

It piques Mark’s curiosity but he doesn’t ask. Jaemin answers anyway.

The letter had been from an acquaintance of their older brother and it carried the message that Jaehyun had been injured and possibly in danger. Mark’s stomach churns unsettlingly. He imagines the worry and shock the letter must have brought them. He tries to understand why the news would warrant Jisung running off into the woods but it feels like he’s missing a last piece of the puzzle to complete the whole picture. Jaemin must know his confusion because Jaemin says, “There’s something I want to tell you that might help you understand better.”

Jaemin waits for Mark’s earnest attention and Mark only realises Jaemin needs his verbal confirmation when Jaemin doesn’t continue.

“Alright,” Mark swallows, hesitant. It doesn’t feel like whatever Jaemin is about to tell him is going to be anything merry. “What is it?”

Jaemin keeps his eyes trained ahead. “Jeno and I. We want you to know that we’re fighters.”

Mark snaps his head towards Jaemin. He thinks he might have imagined strange words coming out of Jaemin’s mouth. He searches Jaemin’s face in stunned disbelief but Jaemin is extremely composed as opposed to him, as if he’d expected this reaction out of Mark. Mark’s heart drops to his stomach and a growing dread eats a hole in his chest. 

“You know what a fighter is, don’t you?” Jaemin asks tentatively. Mark clasps his hands tighter, his knuckles turning pale. “Jaehyun’s a fighter too,” Jaemin breathes out. His gaze is weighted where he looks far off in the distance. He looks stressed, wary, exhausted. As much as it’s difficult for him to accept, Mark imagines that it can’t be easy for Jaemin to be telling him this either. Mark has to close his eyes to take it in. His heart thuds so loud that everything else feels distant, muted. Maybe if he can’t hear Jaemin’s voice, none of this can be considered real. Maybe he can convince himself that this is a horrible dream. 

“Jeno and I often train in the woods. It’s why we have our daggers. Jaehyun and I agreed that Ji shouldn’t be involved because we didn’t want him to be risking his life like us. But Ji,” Jaemin lets out a weak laugh. It’s one that comes from past pain. “He always insisted. He was always begging to come along to train with us. When the letter came today announcing Jaehyun’s casualty, I think Jisung got upset and mad. He was frustrated about being the only one not contributing when his brothers were living every second fighting for something they believed in. So he took my dagger and ran.” A long pause follows, like Jaemin’s gotten lost in his head as the memories come back to him, before he re-emerges from his thoughts and says fondly, “Ji’s a little impulsive like that. All he ever wanted was to help.”

Mark doesn’t know what to say. It all feels too much. Blood rushes to his head and his palms break out into a cold sweat. He feels sick. A horrible feeling grows inside him. His fingers curl into his palms, his fingernails marking deep crescents into his skin. He’s at a total loss of what to do. Jaemin and Jeno are fighters. And he’s the prince. There can’t be a more horrible twist of fate.

“We hadn’t wanted to tell you because it was risky, and we barely knew you. But you’ve helped us a great deal and even risked your life to help us find Ji, I thought it was only right you knew the truth,” Jaemin explains. Mark opens his eyes slowly, watches the grass beneath his feet. It feels like a cruel, cruel joke. A selfish part of him wished Jaemin hadn’t told him. A wicked part of him wished he hadn’t earned Jaemin’s trust.

The puzzle pieces itself together and completes itself in Mark’s head. Mark wishes it hadn’t. He swallows difficultly. “The reason Jaehyun left.” He lets his words linger, hoping Jaemin continues for him so he doesn’t have to utter the truth out on his own.

Jaemin takes in a breath to steel himself, a manner that shows he doesn’t know how to get through this conversation other than to be direct about it. “There were more fighters up north than there are here. Jaehyun knew in order to strengthen the fighters he had to leave to where the lot of them were. Only this was all in his head, of course. He abruptly left one dawn without a word, his explanation penned to me in a single letter. I never told Jisung and I don’t think Jaehyun wanted me to either. Ji thinks Jaehyun left because he was unhappy with how we lived but he found out this evening that it wasn’t entirely true.”

“Jaemin,” Mark says gravely, staring into the dark brown eyes that turn to look at him. His stomach twists over and over like a forewarning. He chooses the plunge in. He doesn’t think there’s any other choice, not when everything is pointing to the same thing. “Why did Jaehyun leave?”

“Jaehyun left to unite the fighters. He’s our leader now.”

The answer comes like a storm bringing in disaster. It rips Mark apart and tears down his shelters, his home, everything he knows to be safe. He’s lost and stranded. 

It feels ridiculous, Mark refuses to believe their fates are all tangled up like this. Not when they trust each other more than anyone else. Mark wishes he could un-hear everything, rewind back time, reject Jaemin’s company, maybe ride back to the palace. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Jaemin and Jeno were reasons to make his day, his taste of genuine friendship. Outside the palace, he could _breathe_ , he could move freely, no one to check him or remind him of what runs in his veins. The weight of royalty gets lifted from him like a cape off his back, crown off his head. And he gets to _live_ for once. 

But now he learns that his only friends who grants him ease are labelled as enemies of the kingdom he serves. He’s left conflicted between what he wants and what he has to do. It was never supposed to come down to this. 

“Why?” Is all he can manage to ask. It comes out choked on denial and desperation. 

“Why? Minhyung, we lost our fathers to the war the kingdom insisted they could win years ago. We lost our mother because of it, and the war was never even won. The kingdom has been at this stupid conflict for years and they’ve made empty promises to the people. The neighbouring towns are still suffering from the repercussions of the flood. The kingdom promised restoration but the people there are still suffering. What if it had been my village? What if the flood had hit us instead? The kingdom isn’t doing enough and we’re tired. The fighters don’t want to settle for this life, we want to be heard. We deserve better from our own kingdom.”

The determination, the struggle and the pain that bleeds in Jaemin’s voice cuts through Mark’s chest and leaves him aching. He understands how Jaemin feels even if he never went through the same difficulties, but he knows it’s horrible and he knows no one deserves to feel like they’ve been given up upon. Mark feels ashamed that his people feel this way. But Mark also lives on the other side of the coin. He knows the struggles the palace has to deal with— has been dealing with for years. It isn’t as easy as hearing the people and giving them what they need. The resources, the decisions, the cost and consequences. A day has not passed where his father, nor him, has made an easy choice. 

Mark’s grasp on the ledge of the fence gets unreasonably rigid. “Jaemin, the palace is trying to do everything it can in its capability- the conflict, helping the devastated towns, dealing with the possibility of war-”

“Which we _don’t want,_ Minhyung. We don’t want another battle. We don’t want to be called to fight against our will for a nation that won’t help us. I don’t want to lose anyone else. No one does. We’re fighting against the kingdom for them to hear us. How much longer do we have to suffer?”

Jaemin is frustrated but Mark is too. It feels like each of his arms is yanked in opposite directions and he doesn’t know which way to give into. Doesn’t know what’s right anymore. He sees the pain in Jaemin’s eyes and sorrow claws in his chest. To lose something again and again and again _._ Jisung once told him that everyone’s a little bit scared. He thinks he knows what Jaemin is afraid of.

But Mark’s never lived outside the palace and as much as he believes he knows the pain Jaemin feels, he understands the trials the palace faces better. He knows and experiences it first-hand how difficult it is dealing with external matters of the kingdom, and matters within the kingdom itself. It’s not a simple matter of choosing which to prioritise. Everything has a cost. Mark can’t side the palace without explaining to Jaemin why but he can’t agree with Jaemin without feeling like he’s betraying everything his father and him had worked hard for. It’s the worst position to be in and Mark never wishes anyone else to be conflicted between people they love like this.

“You have to consider the bigger picture of things.” Mark speaks carefully but Jaemin shakes his head like his mind is made up. Mark presses on. “Jaemin, I know you think it’s unfair-”

“It is,” Jaemin says fiercely. “And I have had enough.”

“And Jeno?” Mark asks steadily but his gut wrenches. _Does Jeno hate royalty too? Does Jeno feel the same?_ “Does Jeno agree with all this?”

“Jeno’s got no one else to lose, Minhyung. Jeno’s got _nothing_ in his life. And he doesn’t wish this upon anyone else.” 

“Jeno has you,” Mark counters, heat unfurling inside him. He’s getting defensive and he doesn’t know why. He thinks he’s desperate to cling back to what they had before. He doesn’t want anything to change. “He has Ji, and your grandmother. He’s got his job and-”

“He’s got you,” Jaemin says seriously. “You mean a lot to him, Minhyung. I see it. He trusts you, and so do I. That’s why we think you’d make a good addition to our group.”

Mark stares at him. A hundred things pass through his mind all at once, a whirlwind spinning in his head. “You want me to join you? The fighters?”

“You’re level-headed and rational. You’re trained and kind. You serve people naturally, offering help in every way without hesitation. You’d make a good fighter. The best of us.”

It feels like someone’s wound a rope around his chest again and again. His breathing gets irregular. To receive trust. To receive trust, and not want it. His hands shake as he pushes himself off the ledge. His voice trembles. “Jaemin, I appreciate it but I can’t.”

“You don’t want to join us?”

“It’s not that. I just— I just can’t.” Mark moves away. “I’m sorry.”

“They have Jaehyun,” Jaemin voices, turning back.

Mark takes in a stuttering breath. There’s determination and fear in Jaemin’s eyes that makes Mark’s chest throb. Mark doesn’t know how to tell him he knows. He knows the palace has Jaehyun captured. _He_ captured him.

This is all so, so wrong. 

He shot Jaehyun. He shot Jaemin’s and Jisung’s brother. He feels sweat breaking down his back. His nerves buzz hotly. Jaemin’s gaze upon him is unceasing.

“Minhyung, please—”

“Don’t say anything else!” Mark cries, his voice wavering horribly. “Jaemin, please. Don’t tell me anything more.”

Jaemin looks offended and mad. “Does being a fighter repel you that much?”

“No, Jaemin, of course it doesn’t! You fighting for what you believe in has my highest respect but I _can’t_ —” 

“We just thought your motives would align with ours. To help the people!”

Mark feels so sick of himself he turns around abruptly. “I know Jaemin, but I can’t! Okay? I can’t!”

“Why not?” Jaemin presses, his eyebrows furrowed. The wind pushes his hair as he approaches Mark. He holds Mark’s shoulder but that simple touch crumbles Mark to dust. He’s tired of his own lies.

He closes his eyes and speaks only a whisper above the wind. “I’m the reason your brother is injured.”

“Ji isn’t hurt because of you. Ji’s only-”

“And held captive,” Mark speaks louder, causing Jaemin’s words to die out. He opens his eyes. The wind rises, as if battling Mark’s voice for dominance and it roars in their ears, messing their hairs and rustling their clothes without care. Jisung isn’t the brother Mark is talking about and he needs Jaemin to realise this.

“I don’t understand. How.. What are you saying?”

“What did the letter say, Jaemin? How did Jaehyun get hurt?”

“He got shot,” Jaemin answers distractedly. His eyes scan Mark’s face perplexedly to comprehend what Mark means to tell him. It doesn’t click for him just yet. “But what does that have to do with-”

“His _leg_ got shot! By what, Jaemin?”

“By an arrow.” Jaemin swallows. “Minhyung, I’m not sure-”

“An arrow, Jaemin!” Mark exclaims like he’s lost his mind. “An arrow!” he repeats, begging for Jaemin to piece it together. “Jaemin. He got shot by an arrow. What do I carry with me all the time?”

Jaemin pales and the look that passes his face makes Mark feel horrible. 

Jaemin shakes his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would you- I don’t underst-”

“Do I have to put a crown on my head?” Mark asks desperately, feeling like his heart has been wrenched out of his chest. “Jaemin, _please_.” _Please tell me you understand._

Jaemin stares at Mark like he’s seeing Mark for the first time. “That’s not possible. You?” Jaemin staggers away from him, like he’s frightened, like he’s misplaced his trust. “But how?” 

“Jaemin, I didn’t mean—”

Something flashes across Jaemin’s eyes. Everything comes falling onto him like a light drizzle at first, and then a sudden downpour. Jaemin looks sick from the realisation that’s struck him. He looks at Mark with fiery, wild eyes.

“Why?” Jaemin demands heatedly, still keeping his distance from Mark. “Why would you do this?”

Mark tries to step closer. He shakes his head, hoping desperately for Jaemin to understand. “Jaemin, I did what I had to do.”

“ _You_ shot my brother?” Jaemin yells, outraged, laced with bitter betrayal and the sharp piercing of exploited trust. “You could have killed him!”

“I never meant to kill him!” Mark counters fiercely. Jaemin only has his brother’s side of the story. Jaehyun could have killed Mark too. Mark wears the evidence on his arm.

In an abrupt motion, Jaemin flashes out his dagger from his waist, points it threateningly towards Mark’s neck. Mark doesn’t flinch nor stray his stare from Jaemin.

“Why did you follow Jeno home the first time? Did you know about him since then?” Jaemin thrusts his dagger threateningly at him. “Did you know that we were fighters? Answer me!”

Mark doesn’t know what to say. Not at first, but after a while his mind had considered it. He hadn’t thought it possible, he had pushed it away. There was no way it was true. How could there? He trusted them and they trusted him. The situation they’re in now only mocks him.

Jaemin scoffs out a delirious laugh at Mark’s silence. He charges forwards and grabs Mark’s shirt, strangling it against Mark’s neck. 

“What do you want with Jeno? What are going to do to him?”

Mark would never hurt Jeno, ever, but the fact that he’d been lying to Jeno ever since the first time they met contradicts him ironically. 

Jaemin raises the blade of his knife to rest against the skin of Mark’s neck. Mark’s heartbeat thrums in his ears but he’s not afraid of Jaemin, he’s afraid of the fact that the consequences of his actions have come at last and that there’s nothing he can do to salvage himself and regain the trust of the people that matter to him. 

“I have none,” Mark confesses truthfully, his chin held high above the blade of Jaemin’s knife. 

“I won’t have myself fooled!” Jaemin snarls, applying pressure to his blade. Just the slightest push would have it cutting into Mark’s skin. “You’re going to turn us in, aren’t you? After how much Jeno’s cared for you! This is how you repay him?”

“I would never do that. I never meant to hurt any of you. I never want to hurt Jeno. You have to trust me.”

There’s a sort of craziness in Jaemin’s eyes, one that shines dangerous and wild. Jaemin’s more than just furious. Mark knows if he plays exactly how Jaemin expects him to— to fight him— Jaemin would kill him there and then. But he isn’t what Jaemin think he is, he’s not someone they’ve misplaced their trust in, yet he can’t bring himself to tell Jaemin he never meant for things to get to this point. Jaemin and Jeno weren’t supposed to be fighters. Mark wasn’t supposed to be chasing after their brother. The leader of the fighters wasn’t supposed to be Jaehyun. 

“He should never have trusted you,” Jaemin snaps, his knife still pressed threateningly against Mark’s throat. Jaemin’s voice falls, but it’s rough and drenched with flaming rage. His eyes shake with regret. “I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Mark mutters resignedly, his eyes flickering down to the blade resting precariously on the skin of his neck. 

Jaemin gives a scoff and his hands twitch. Mark thinks Jaemin is going to drive the dagger into his throat but Jaemin slashes his dagger back down to his side. It does nothing to make Mark feel relieved. 

Jaemin glowers. “You’ve been lying to us the whole time! Do you have no guilt?”

The guilt eats him every single day. Not that Jaemin would believe him. “I know I lied about who I was, but everything else is the truth.” Everything they’ve shared, everything Mark felt with them, none of them were faked. The only thing Mark had kept secret was the title that came with his name. Who he is as a person, what he’s truly like— he’s shown himself exactly as he is to them.

“Everything you are is _royalty_ ,” Jaemin spits. “You’re the prince! You forgot to tell us that?”

“You didn’t tell me you were fighters from the start either,” Mark retaliates. It’s unfair because he’s been lied to as well and he feels just as unjust as Jaemin is. Just like Jaemin has to handle the consequences of Mark’s actions, Mark has to suffer under his. It goes both ways. Mark feels betrayed too.

“Being a fighter isn’t exactly something to parade around, especially not with knights patrolling every breathing space there is!” Jaemin glares at him. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m trying to keep everyone safe!”

“Safe!” Jaemin laughs bitterly. Jaemin barges into his space, his face close enough that Mark sees the fire livid in his eyes. “Safe from what? From us, who’s fighting for them?” 

“Safe from any harm!”

“You make me laugh!”

Mark’s heart rattles wildly and he tries to tame his fury. “I know you hate me-”

“You’re _royalty_!”

Mark steps forward, even closer, his palm secretly gripping his dagger anchored to his side. He hates having to do this but he has no choice. He has to be sure of Jaemin’s safety, along with Jeno’s and Jisung’s. “And because I’m royalty, I’m ordering you to stop being involved with the fighters.”

Jaemin laughs madly. “You can think what you want,” he snarks, and in a mocking tone he adds, “your Highness.” Jaemin turns and walks away from him.

“I’m trying to keep you safe! You can’t be involved with the fighters!”

“Don’t you ever come back here!” Jaemin yells without turning back.

“You can’t tell Jeno!” Mark warns. 

“You don’t deserve that!”

Mark’s heart jolts in his chest. He knows Jeno deserves the truth but he doesn’t want Jeno to know like this. He charges forward, gripping Jaemin’s shoulder to wheel him back around. “You mustn’t tell him!”

Jaemin shoves Mark’s hand off his shoulder. “I will only relay what I’ve heard. Unlike you, I don’t play with his trust.”

Mark doesn’t know what stirs up the anger inside of him. He thinks it might be how Jaemin isn’t the slightest bit sorry for committing a crime against the kingdom and judges Mark like Mark’s the worst criminal in the world. Or that he’s angry at everything, and the fact that he’s terrified of Jeno knowing the truth. 

“And if I were to do that, if I were to relay to the palace what I’ve heard here?” Mark questions fiercely, posing it as a challenge. Jaemin’s eyes shift like an untamed beast. Jaemin lunges himself at Mark, too fast for Mark to react. Mark feels the hit to his jaw before he can even register Jaemin’s movements. It has him down on the ground. Jaemin steps on his chest and looks down at him, driven with rage. 

“Don’t you dare threaten me! I don’t care who you are!”

Mark swipes Jaemin’s leg in one swift motion and Jaemin tumbles over. Mark is quick to trap him on the ground, knees on both sides of his torso to pin him down. He points his knife below Jaemin’s eye. 

“If you tell Jeno a _single_ word-”

But Jaemin is unpredictably fast and Mark isn't at all prepared when his knife gets flung out of his hold and Jaemin is holding him up by his shirt. 

“You asshole!”

Jaemin punches him. Again, and again. Mark retracts back, trying to evade Jaemin’s throws. He sees Jaemin going in for another blow and he dodges in time, managing a kick to Jaemin’s shins. 

Jaemin stumbles back. Mark has never seen Jaemin so full of emotion, so full of madness like this. “I won't let you fool Jeno!”

“You will not tell him anything!” Mark yells. Before Mark can attack, Jaemin throws a punch to his stomach. Mark wretches back, but he’s not weak. He analyses quickly, calculates and attacks. Just like he’s been taught to for years. He aims a punch but Jaemin catches his fist. A calculated move that Jaemin falls trap to. Mark uses that chance to elbow Jaemin in the chest and belatedly delivers a punch to Jaemin’s face. There's blood on his hands but he doesn't know if it's his or Jaemin’s. He punches Jaemin again, catching his jaw. He holds Jaemin up by his collar. Both of them are panting. He wonders if there's blood on his face the way Jaemin’s does.

“You won’t utter a single word to Jeno,” Mark grits out to Jaemin’s face, like an order. 

“And why should I listen to you?” Jaemin spits, eyes full of distrust and challenge. “Just because you’re the prince? You think I’m afraid of you?”

“Because your life is in my hands now Jaemin,” Mark declares. “I am the prince and my words are law. I have your confession of your role as a fighter. I can and _will_ use it against you should I see a need to.”

“You wouldn't,” Jaemin spits, but there’s no confidence in the way he speaks.

“I have your brother captured,” Mark reminds him. “I shot him and I can do worse to you.” The words are distasteful on his tongue and he swallows down the bitter shame that accompanies them. “So believe me when I say that the price of disobeying my orders is your life.”

Jaemin lets out a silent quivering breath and Mark throws him back, finally releasing him from his hold. Jaemin drops to his knees. His legs are weak, he doesn’t seem able to bring himself to fight Mark anymore. He’d lose, they both know this and Mark feels disgusted with himself, more than Jaemin is with him. Jaemin doesn't cry, no tears drop from his face but he looks at Mark with red rimmed eyes, red of betrayal and disappointment. 

Jaemin looks at Mark like Mark is a hideous beast. He breathes deeply, a struggled sound lodged in his throat and staggers back on his feet. Jaemin is a fighter and that much is obvious in how he carries himself, how he tries hard not to crumble. Mark admires him, even in this moment he’s lost Jaemin’s trust and gains Jaemin’s hatred for the brand of his blood.

Mark can make out Jeno and Jisung making their way towards them in the distance. Jeno is shouting for them to come back in. 

Jaemin tears his gaze away from Mark’s face, like he’s sorry and regretful to have ever given Mark a chance. He ignores Mark completely as he stalks past him. He pauses after a few steps and throws his head back over his shoulder. He gives Mark a vile glare. His voice comes out hoarse and croaked. He’s broken, disappointed. 

“To think I ever considered you family.”

Mark’s heart echoes hauntingly in his hollow chest but he stands tall, doesn’t allow his emotions to move him. He watches wordlessly as Jaemin walks away. 

Jeno runs up to Jaemin but his steps falter as he approaches, his face morphed into confusion. He stares, and stares as he takes tentative steps before his steps quicken and he breaks out into a mad dash. He reaches Jaemin, his hands cupping Jaemin’s cheeks and his eyes frantically scanning over the bruises on Jaemin’s face.

“What…” his voice trembles. He glances at Mark over Jaemin’s shoulder, sees twinning injuries and pales even further. “What the hell happened?”

Jeno darts his eyes back to Jaemin’s face, his face completely rewritten with alarm. His eyes widen and he holds Jaemin carefully by his shoulders, tilts his head to make Jaemin look at him because Jaemin can’t seem to bring his head up. “Jaemin, hey.. hey, what’s the matter?”

Mark knows, with a single glance at Jeno’s utter distress that there are tears falling down Jaemin’s face. His gut twists horribly.

“ _Jaemin_ ,” the name falls desperately from Jeno’s mouth, worry and fear dripping with it. “Ji!” Jeno shouts looking back, “Jisung! I need help!” Jeno pulls Jaemin by the wrist, glancing briefly back at Mark as if to say something. Mark understands that his priority will always be Jaemin. It must show on Mark’s face because the lines on Jeno’s face ease just slightly before he starts walking briskly with Jaemin back to the house. “Minhyung,” is all he says to Jisung when he crosses him. 

Jisung rushes up to Mark, brings Mark by his shoulder to sit Mark down on one of the wooden stumps by the barn. He holds up a lamp next to Mark’s face to see how badly hurt Mark is. There’s a grimace on Jisung’s face and Mark imagines it can’t look that pretty. He touches his own jaw, feels it hurt when he brushes it. It’ll probably bloom into a bruise. There’s also a cut on his cheek and he winces, but it’s all bearable. It’s nothing like the unceasing stabs he feels in his chest. A knife wedge so deep there’s no way to take it out. He has to learn to be with the pain. It’s his own fault, anyway.

“I’ll get a cloth for you,” Jisung says worriedly. He makes to stand but Mark grips his wrist, and tugs him gently back down on the wooden stump next to him. Jisung lays the lamp down on the dewy grass.

“I’m fine,” Mark says. Predicting that Jisung will ask him to come inside, he adds, “It’s wise that I take my leave. I’ve troubled all of you enough.”

“You can’t leave,” Jisung says, affronted yet ever persistent. “You’re not in the state to- wait till Jeno comes back out. Jeno would scold me for letting you go.”

Mark doesn’t know how he’ll face Jeno if Jaemin reveals everything to him. A part of him wants to desperately go so he won’t have to see how much Jeno hates him, but another part of him wants to stay and explain himself to Jeno and apologise even if Jeno won’t hear it. He knows Jeno would never want to have anything to do with him again, but he wants to see Jeno at least one more time. Yet, he knows he shouldn’t stay, not when his lies have caused so much hurt.

“Please don’t leave,” Jisung says in the weakest voice that breaks Mark’s heart. Mark doesn’t want to upset Jisung more than what Jisung has gone through today, so he stays and Jisung sends him the sweetest smile only a sweet boy like him could possibly offer. Jisung doesn’t ask him what happened, he only expresses his gratitude.

“Thank you,” Jisung murmurs, staring at his hands in his lap. “I didn’t manage to thank you earlier for coming to get me but I’m very grateful. So, thank you.”

“I’m only glad you’re safe,” Mark says as he watches the shadow of the flame in the lamp dance on the grass. “Just don’t go running off again, alright? No matter how upset you are.”

“I know. I was reckless.”

“It’s fine now that you know. Be good to your brother, always. And to Jeno too,” Mark says and he realises it sounds like a parting speech. It might be one. Jisung must feel the same because he asks, “Will I see you again after today?”

Mark turns his head, watches Jisung illuminated by the glow of the lamp. Jisung’s only a few years younger but the years that separates them gift Mark more wisdom and clarity that Jisung has yet to learn. But Jisung’s learnt plenty, given all that he’s been through, and Jisung’s seen enough to know that something isn’t right and he might lose another person he’s come to care for. Now looking at Jisung’s boyish face, Mark sees the hurt and struggle a boy like him shouldn’t have to go through and he wishes sincerely that Jisung doesn’t have to go through any more pain.

He gets up from the wooden stump and crouches before Jisung, clutching onto Jisung’s hands in Jisung’s lap. Jisung startles but he brings his head up to look at Mark earnestly.

“Ji, I’ve done some horrible things, and the truths that I’ve kept from some people have hurt them. And if I told you what they are, you’d hate me for hurting you as well.”

“I could never hate you,” Jisung says immediately, like he’s hoping his words could stop Mark from saying what he doesn’t want to hear. Mark’s heart cracks with fine lines like a frozen river under a weight it can’t bear. 

“You’d hate me,” Mark says with a soft smile he doesn’t deserve to give. “I can’t promise that I’ll come back but if you want to see me again,” Mark pauses contemplatively. He doesn’t know what to tell Jisung. He sees it clear on Jisung’s face that Jisung would miss him terribly and it tugs his heart. “If you want to see me again, I’m sure the universe will grant it because they owe it to you to make you happy.”

“The universe owes me?”

The universe does. Putting a boy through so much pain and hardship, Jisung deserves better than what he’s going through. 

“The universe owes you,” Mark affirms. His heart throbs awfully in his ribcage as he brings his hand up to caress Jisung’s face. “Stay safe, Ji. Listen to your brother. Will you promise me that?”

“You speak like you’re not coming back,” Jisung says with a wobble to his voice. “How else am I going to see Thunder?” He attempts a joke but his voice is wet and his eyes show what he doesn’t say. Mark remembers the numb boy he met forever ago that he’s learnt so much about, that he’s able to slowly crack into the chambers of his heart where he stores his feelings in a closely guarded chest. The boy he’s come to care for like his own brother, the boy who has slowly eased around him and whose presence he never not appreciates.

“Ji, promise me?”

Jisung’s promise comes in the form of a sudden embrace, cold arms wrapped around Mark’s torso. Mark swallows, feeling like his heart has been hung on a noose. They’re both kneeling on the grass and Jisung clings onto him tightly. He rests his chin over Jisung’s head where it’s buried into his chest and tries to blink away the burn behind his eyes. He rubs Jisung’s back comfortingly.

“You’re the one acting like I’m not coming back,” Mark teases in a whisper. Jisung’s breath trembles and like he knows— they both do— that Mark isn’t going to come back, he says, “I’ll think of you. All the time, until I can see you again.”

Mark’s exhale shivers in the cold night, and Mark closes his eyes, his hand caressing Jisung’s head. He’s sorry that Jisung will have to lose something again and this time it’s him who’s brought it upon Jisung. 

Jisung pulls away, subtly wipes his eyes and the glow of the lamp from the distance makes the both of them look up. Jisung stands and so does Mark, both of them watching the weary expression on Jeno’s face as Jeno approaches. Mark can’t tell if Jeno’s angry and he’s afraid of what will come out of Jeno’s mouth.

“Ji, your brother is waiting for you to get to bed. Don’t make too much noise, your grandmother’s asleep.” Jisung nods and walks briskly back to the house. He turns his head back to give Mark a last glance. Mark nods and Jisung turns the side of the house, disappearing completely from view. Mark doesn’t know if he’ll see Jisung again.

Jeno takes in Mark’s face worriedly. “Are you-”

“I’m alright. It’s just a little bruise.”

“What did you do?” Jeno asks, his shoulders worn. There’s a weight to his steps when he moves closer to Mark. He reaches for Mark’s hand and holds it. Mark’s heart balances at the tip of an arrow. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Mark answers reassuringly. He takes in a calming breath and grips Jeno’s hand for fear he’ll crumble otherwise. It seems like Jeno is still unaware of who he really is and Mark takes his chances. He asks, “How’s Jaemin?”

“He could do better,” Jeno says honestly.

Mark nods.

Jeno watches him carefully. “Did.. did Jaemin try to recruit you?”

“I... turned him down.”

“He told me that,” Jeno mutters. “Was that why you fought?”

“No,” Mark answers truthfully.

Jeno’s face falls, as if he’d been hoping for another answer. “That’s what he told me too. He was telling the truth, then. You’re not going to tell me what happened either, aren’t you?”

Jaemin hadn’t told Jeno anything at all it seems. Mark feels guilty that he had to threaten Jaemin about it and even guiltier for feeling relieved that Jaemin had held the truth back from Jeno.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say.

Jeno shakes his head. “I just, I’d never seen Jaemin cry. The last time was the night his mother passed, and even that was by accident. After that, never again,” Jeno confesses and looks at Mark. “Until now.”

“I never meant to hurt him.”

“I believe you,” Jeno says and it should make Mark feel better but it doesn’t. It makes him feel less worthy of a person. 

“I’d offer you to stay the night but I don’t think you’d want to.”

“I should head back.”

“I don’t want you to.”

The confession catches Mark off guard and Mark stares at Jeno, stunned. 

“Do you have to leave so soon?” Jeno asks hesitantly. His hand is still warm in Mark’s. “It’s been a rough night with the letter, and with Jisung running off, and Jaemin and you... do you have to go? I would like your company for a little while more.”

Jeno looks at him so earnestly and with so much hope that Mark doesn’t have it in him to deny Jeno of what he wishes. In a burst of sudden courage and selfishness, Mark says, “Would you like to go to the creek?”

Jeno’s eyes shine but he speaks warily. “What about the knights? Won’t we get caught?”

“I know a path. We’ll be safe. Would you like one more getaway?” _One last getaway._

“Jaemin will have a row. He didn’t want me to come out,” Jeno confesses but his eyes glint brightly. “I told Jaemin I was going to ask you to bring me there to spite him. It’s as if you read my mind.”

“But I did,” Mark jokes, a little too easily but Jeno’s smiles do a better job than miracles and Mark’s chest starts to fill slowly from the hollow cave that it was. Mark savours the last moments he has with Jeno and he promises himself he’ll be out of Jeno’s life for good after tonight. It’s what Jaemin would want, it’s what he should have done. For now, he’ll take everything he is able to before he loses it all when day breaks. He can pretend it’s just them that matters for just this moment.

“Do you trust me?” Mark asks.

“Easily.”

Mark’s heart aches but Jeno smiles bright and that’s the only thing that matters.

They don’t bump into any knights under Mark’s guidance and when they reach the creek, Jeno pets Thunder in thanks before letting him roam. He makes his way to the rocks by the creek they’ve claimed as theirs. The lamp swings in his hold.

When Mark sits by his side, Jeno rests his head on Mark’s shoulder which makes Mark look down at him in surprise. Jeno smiles cheekily at him and gazes up at the sky. He points his finger at the moon. 

“She’s pretty.”

Mark looks up as well. Jeno’s hair brushes his cheek. “She is.”

“Are you having a hard time?” Jeno asks without turning to him. Mark wonders if Jeno sees through him easily. 

“I can see it,” Jeno confirms for him. “But if you want, you can forget your worries for a moment, while you’re with me.”

Mark appreciates how thoughtful Jeno is every single time. Jeno is always sweet to him. He thinks he can tell when Jeno is having a hard time too.

Jeno lifts his head off Mark’s shoulder and looks at Mark with an amused lift of his brow. “Really?” he asks, turning his body to Mark fully.

The thing is, Mark knows Jeno is always having a hard time. Jeno’s learnt how to pick out the small pockets of happiness from the crevices of the walls of his life. Mark thinks Jeno deserves an open sky. 

“Not in this moment, no,” Mark says as he gazes at Jeno. “Right now you’re happy.”

Jeno laughs. It harmonises with the tinkling of the stream. “I am.” His eyes roam around Mark’s face and his features soften like he’s seen something that pleases him. “And so are you.”

In this moment, Mark is. He nods and gives Jeno a smile that hides the quiver of his lips.

Jeno rests his hand on Mark’s knee and Mark braves himself to put his hand over Jeno’s. Jeno rewards him with a tender smile. 

With another ounce of courage, Mark takes in a breath and holds Jeno’s gaze earnestly. “If I asked you to run away with me, would you?”

Jeno goes quiet but he doesn’t tear away from Mark’s eyes. Mark knows his answer.

“You wouldn’t,” Mark answers for him because he knows Jeno and he knows Jeno wouldn’t leave Jaemin behind, nor stop what he’s committed to do. He now understands the scars adorning Jeno’s body, each earned from resilience and acts as a mark of unyielding hope. That what he’s fighting for is worth. Jeno’s a fighter and Mark thinks it suits him well. He makes an amazing fighter, with his kind heart and relentless determination, and if Mark wasn’t the prince, he’d tell Jeno how admirable he thinks Jeno is. But because he’s the prince, he keeps it to himself. The fighters hate royalty and Mark doesn’t want to lead himself into believing that Jeno is an exception.

“But I would have considered it,” Jeno tells him. 

Mark gives him a weak smile. The fact that Jeno would contemplate the idea of running away with him is enough for him. For Jeno to consider leaving Jaemin, Jisung and everything he’s recognised as home to be with him, Mark treats it like a privilege. 

Jeno stares at him worriedly. “But it’s not like you to offer something like this.”

And Jeno is right about that too. Mark would never run away from his duties and his home, from the person that he is, no matter how much he wants to. Because he owes it to his father and the palace for making him who he is. He is born to serve. Mark is as dedicated and faithful as Jeno is to his responsibilities and neither of them will abandon what’s dear in their hearts. But it’s difficult to separate his duties from his desires, because he holds a piece of Jeno in his heart as well. Mark likes to think Jeno has kept dear a piece of him too. And because they are the same, Mark says, “No, but I would consider it too.”

“You coward,” Jeno says gently, squeezing his hand. “I told you, you don’t have to be like that with me.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid,” Jeno murmurs. He takes a hand to cup Mark’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the cut on Mark’s face. Before, Mark was afraid of how things will change but now, with Jeno touching him and smiling so delicately at him, clueless of how much he wants to give Jeno everything Jeno should have, he isn’t. His fears take a rest when he’s with Jeno. 

Jeno leans into the space between them and kisses softly beneath the cut on his cheek. Mark’s eyes flutter shut. He intakes a trembling breath that he’s sure Jeno can hear. When Jeno pulls away, Jeno’s gaze lingers on the cut before he raises his eyes to stare into Mark’s. “Why don’t you tell me a secret? Like how we always do whenever we’re here.”

Mark always contemplates the same secret he holds. Always at the tip of his tongue, a little courage and carelessness to set it free. But fear keeps it back and another honesty takes over. “I’m scared you’ll get caught,” Mark whispers. “You know what would happen if you got caught.”

“What?” Jeno asks with a weak laugh as he avoids Mark’s eyes, but his hand still caresses Mark’s cheek. 

“Jeno,” Mark calls out, pained.

Jeno sighs quietly and meets Mark’s eyes again. “I know. If Jaemin and I get caught, well, then it speeds everything up, doesn’t it?”

“Jeno.” This time the desperation in Mark’s voice rings loud and clear. 

“We won’t get caught, Minhyung.”

A thousand refutes fly through Mark’s head. He wants to ask Jeno how could Jeno be so sure, if he could truly believe Jeno’s words, because he desperately doesn’t want Jeno to suffer more harm and pain than Jeno already has. He wants to beg Jeno to prove it to him but there’s no point to it. Neither of them could ever predict how things will take shape and Mark doesn’t want Jeno to make a promise he might have to break. All he can do is trust that Jeno will be careful. He knows Jeno is far more than capable. He nods to show that he believes him. He conjures up a convincing smile. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Jeno asks, his lips curling up. “Alright,” Mark repeats again, this time with a lighter smile which makes both of them suppress laughters at nothing funny. Mark grips Jeno’s hand tighter. Jeno caresses his cheek more tenderly and Mark tries not to break. 

“Your turn,” Mark insists. “Tell me a secret.”

Jeno’s secret speaks loud unspoken, sealed between their lips and concealed by the harmony of their breaths. Jeno’s lips are soft against his and Jeno’s palm fits the curve of his neck like it was made to hold him. 

It makes everything inside Mark crumble. His chest pounds with something he can’t admit. Yet he doesn’t repress himself when he kisses Jeno back and he savours the way Jeno surrenders pliantly to his touch, the way Jeno doesn’t hold back like he isn’t afraid of loving him, like he’s letting go of everything because Mark is worth losing everything for. Jeno kisses him so sweetly that his chest rattles and aches and he knows without a doubt that he has Jeno’s heart whole. 

He kisses Jeno fiercely and devastatingly and when Jeno sighs softly into his mouth, kissing him deeper like it’s what he’s been waiting for this whole time, Mark has to fight the sudden tightness around his throat. He surrenders his heart to Jeno completely to let Jeno keep a piece of him. Because he loves Jeno and he doesn’t want to hurt him anymore.

He gives Jeno his heart to keep because he won’t be coming back.

It’s cruel how he gets the one thing he ever wanted only when he finally decides to let him go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a kiss but at what cost!!!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is extremely and shamelessly catered to my own interests but you are free to join me if you want! Let me know your thoughts! Find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/hapatakup) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/subaks)


End file.
